Kindness is the Language
by Autobot Chromia
Summary: 'Kindness is the language the blind see and the deaf hear.' -Mark Twain Living with a handicap can be trying, especially so if that 'handicap' happens late in life. No longer to hear the sound of his best friend's voice, tires on the ground, or even his own vocalizer, Prowl learns firsthand that the Deaf have a language of their own. No OC.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

* * *

Shifting for the hundredth time, a visored Polyhexian looked towards the still frame on the berth beside him. It seemed rhythmic, the other's measured vents causing his back to rise and fall as he lay on his stomach, optics shuttered in an odd, dreamless sleep. The beep of his own spark monitor mixed with his friends', seeming to almost fill the room with offset blips.

Even though he knew he shouldn't, he tried to push himself up anyways. Not a good idea as his servos, pedes, sides, and neck all protested the movement. Hissing softly to no one other than himself, he eased himself back down. Carefully, very carefully, he lifted a servo to inspect it.

It was bare of all metal armor, similar to his entire body. White gauze pads, taped into position, covered open sores and charred protoform from his vision. Venting to himself, and covering his visor from the bandages, Jazz could only hope Prowl at least looked better than he.

Due to the bits and pieces he had been told, picked up on through a slightly open door and plenty of eavesdropping, it didn't seem to be the case. Despite the Praxian's alt. mode of a police model automobile, he had never been exceedingly fast. Jazz could, and had, beat him in many races. He was built for speed, and practiced it often.

Out of all of them- Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bumblebee, Prowl, and himself- Prowl had been the closest to the well-aimed grenade. Despite his very best attempts to save them all, giving them a warning to take off before grabbing the pinless bomb and tossing it straight into the air, it hadn't been enough to keep them all conscious as it exploded. It hadn't been enough to keep them all out of the med-bay; three of them still in the Intensive Care Unit.

His visor, having cut visual feed, onlined as a soft tap followed by a squeak signaled the door opening. Jazz brightened as the Chief Medical Officer entered the room, seeming to loom even in a non-intimidating mood.

Showing no outward acknowledgment to the awake mech, Ratchet first checked Jazz's stats and vitals. He gave a small tip of his helm, pleased at how they were improving. Without a word, he stepped on a pressure sensed lever, rising the berth up for him to gain better access to the mech.

"How you feeling?" he asked as he motioned for a servo, carefully unraveling gauze and bandages even as he spoke.

"Better." Jazz replied honestly. Most things felt better than raw, open burns being scrubbed clean, and _everything_ felt better than being blown to smithereens.

Ratchet grunted as the final bandage came loose and slid from the gray servo. Never having been one for medical things, especially injuries that didn't involve him lending a hand, Jazz turned his helm away.

Ratchet almost chuckled. "It looks better."

"How can ya tell?" Jazz asked, wrinkling his olfactory sensor and quickly looking away after a self-dare to look.

This time Ratchet did chuckle, replacing the old bandages with fresh ones and moving on to the next set of burns. "No sign of infections, but stop playing with your bandages. That's right." He gave a nod as Jazz turned, visor bright. "I know you've been screwing with them."

"What else 'm Ah supposed ta do?" Jazz asked, laying back into the pillow and crossing his servos once Ratchet released him. "It's borin' in 'ere."

"I'm here to fix you, not entertain you at your every whim." Ratchet scoffed. Really, some bots thought that miracles came easy! If they wanted him to have the energy to entertain him, then they'd get an adequate job done for him to reserve the energy. Just how'd they expect to see him from the Well?

"Ya won't let nobot come 'n visit meh." Jazz continued to pout, ignoring the medic.

"You've only woken this morning." Ratchet argued. "Primus, are you high-maintenance."

Jazz scowled, preparing a rather nasty retort, when a soft moan from the other side of the room stopped him. In a flash, Ratchet seemed to teleport from his berth to Prowl's, leaning first over the spark monitor as it increased speed and then over the Praxian.

"Prowl?" Ratchet called, snapping loudly just over the Praxian's audio. "Can you hear me, Prowl?"

Jazz smirked as Prowl mumbled a moment, optics opening and closing as his frame slowly decided to become lucid or not, before finally slurring out. "Ratch?"

"You're all right." the medic promised, stepping back to come into better view. Who'd like to wake up with his codpiece right in their face? He smirked as multiple different reactions popped up in is helm. Maybe he'd try it out next time he knocked someone out with a wrench.

"Thanks ta meh." Jazz stated, looking rather smug on his berth.

Prowl hummed in question, looking oddly at the Polyhexian as if he had just spoken fluent Seeker-cant, a language Jazz most definitely did not know. He glanced up at the medic for clarification.

"It's nothing." the medic replied with a roll of his optics, motioning for Prowl to hold out his servo. "I have to check your burns."

Prowl slid out a servo, holding back a grimace of pain at how tight and sore it was as Ratchet took it. An optic ridge slid up as Ratchet began to undo the bandages. "What are you doing?"

The red hands fell still, a chevroned helm turning to look at the other chevron bearer. "I just told you. I have to check your burns."

Prowl blinked once, as if trying to process just what Ratchet was saying. Letting go of the gray servo, Ratchet motioned for Prowl to move to his side. There, now he could look straight into his face without any hindrance, and the Praxian could take in the full glory of his near slagged-off expression.

"Is there something wrong with your processor?" the bulky medic demanded, crossing his servos for extra emphasis. "Or can you not hear me?"

The black and white Praxian only stared at him a klik, focusing mainly on Ratchet's mouth. Blinking once, he canted his helm just ever so slightly to the side and frowned. "Ratchet, there is a ringing in my audios that is-"

Waving his hand to cut off the mech, Ratchet sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Hold still a moment."

"I-I'm sorry?" Prowl asked almost sheepishly.

: I said hold still. : the medic groused through the internal comm. link loud enough to make both Prowl and Jazz, who was tapping in, flinch.

"Yes, Ratchet." Prowl gave a single nod as he fell motionless, allowing the medic to move his helm until one audio faced him.

Slowly, the ringing went from a high C and eased it's way down the scale until it was at least a low D. Doing the same to the other, Prowl found that the spark monitors were indeed beeping steadily and that Jazz was currently humming some mindless tune in his incredible boredom.

"That any better?" Ratchet asked, ready to tune again if necessary.

Giving a single nod, Prowl replied. "Yes, thank you."

Ratchet hummed, looking into the audios once more. After fiddling to his sparks content did he finally pull back with a satisfied look. "You must have been pretty close to the explosion for it to do any damage to your audios."

"My audios are damaged?" Prowl asked, alarmed. How was he going to do his job if his audios were injured? He _needed _them. How would he hear Optimus calling him across a room during an attack? How would he hear the enemy gaining up behind him? How would he simply _function _an orn to orn basis?

The fear gripping Prowl's spark was shaken away with Ratchet's helm. "They're a little off centered, causing the ringing, but your self repairs should take care of it within a few orns. It'll just be annoying."

"I can deal with annoying." Prowl stated. He dealt with the Twin's- mainly Sideswipe's- antics and Jazz's simply being Jazz ornly. A little ringing in his audios for a few orns were nothing compared to them.

"They should fix themselves before you're even released." Ratchet finished, alleviating the last of Prowl's unspoken fear. "If it gets too much just mute your audios."

"I will." Prowl promised as Ratchet finished his duties and took his leave. He stopped by the door, looking straight at the Polyhexian.

"I'm checking on the both if you in a joor. If the two of you are not either recharging or _resting_," Ratchet's optics narrowed, still glued to the visored mech, currently grinning innocently. "Then there _will _be Pit to pay."

Jazz lay back, the picture of obedience and innocence as the door clicked closed. He shuttered his optics and slowly counted off the kliks until a breem was up before launching up as fast as his abused frame would let him. He turned towards the second berth, and opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again in a huff.

"Prowler? Ya up, mech?" Jazz called out loudly, answered only by the others steady venting and even sparkbeat. "Dang." he cursed as he lay back, crossing his servos behind his helm, flinching slightly in the process. Now what was he supposed to do?

It was so _boring _in med-bay!

* * *

Jazz grinned as he slid on his new armor, pleased when it snapped into place. "Like it was made for meh." he hummed to the medic, currently watching him dress.

"Good." Ratchet snorted, pleased as well. "If it hadn't there'd be problems."

"Trouble gettin' it?" Jazz asked sympathetically, knowing just how bots in inventory could be at times. For such a lowly job, they acted as if the world couldn't function without them.

Ratchet snorted again but this time in annoyance at recent memories. "Trouble? You'd think it would be easy getting something so simple! They way they act you'd think I was asking for spare helms."

Jazz chuckled as he clicked on the last piece and straightened, rolling his joints to allow the metal 'clothing' to settle into place. He glanced towards the medic, hope pleading his optics. "So, can Ah go now, doc?"

Ratchet nodded, not even trying to hide his reluctance. "Yes, but you're off for the rest of the orn and light duty for three after that."

"Gotcha." Jazz agreed, not minding in the least bit. Who would mind a bit of down time? Well, other than Prowl. Speaking of which, Jazz turned and cast a look at the Praxian, still recharging on his stomach. "How's he doin'?"

"Better." Ratchet confirmed, but not without noticing the concerned tone Jazz used. "His burns are healing nicely, and he should be set to be released in an orn or so."

Jazz brightened at the good news, only to have a thought dampen his mood and put a frown on his face. "Too bad. Ya know he ain't gonna take any kind of light duty once he's up."

"He will." The medic replied, that dangerous look that even Megatron had backed down from once- not that the warlord would ever admit to such a thing- on his face and blazing in his optics. Just let the Praxian _try _to get back to full work before Ratchet deemed him physically fit. Ratchet snorted, that'd be the day.

Ratchet turned from his thoughts, aware once again that Jazz was still there, eyeing him warily. He frowned. "What are you still doing here? You've been cleared. Now _get_."

Jazz skittered from the med-bay faster than Starscream in a retreat. Ratchet couldn't help the malicious grin that curled his lips, and sent poor Red Alert down in security into a fritz. Primus, it felt good to have that kind of power at times.

* * *

Primus, it felt good to be home. Shaking his helm to will away the annoying buzz in the back of his audios, it was almost frightening how he could _feel _them ring. The ring itself was typical, a high tuned whistle that varied in pitch and decibel, but he could feel his inner audio buzzing, and it tickled and annoyed him to no end.

As annoying as it might be, there was no reason a little noise should deter or hinder him from his work. He'd done so with multiple mechs in the same room, all shouting out different things to one another in the heat of a battle.

Prowl slid back his chair, thankful to ease into it and relax his still rather sore and stiff limbs. He took up a pad from the simply labeled 'To Do' box and onlined it, optics whirring to adjust to the sudden brightness as he began to read. He smiled inwardly, this was just the report he had been hoping for.

He, along with Jazz, Bumblebee, and the Twins, had been sent on an Intel mission on recent Decepticon plans. Their attacks had been more and more sporadic, as if each battle was placed only on a whim and desire to destroy with no strategical settings or any kind of battle formation at all.

He had been sent for split-second tactical planning, making sure they got in, got what they need, and got out as fast and as simply as possible. Jazz was to follow Prowl's plans and hack the Decepticon military mainframe, draining it of as much information as he could. Bumblebee was the Intel holder, taking the information via data-bursts and storing them away in heavy encryption as fast as Jazz could send it. The Twins had been used as firepower, and had turned out to be a very vital part of their team.

It had gone smoothly, as by the book as a military infiltration could be, and had gone without a hitch as Jazz hacked with ease and Bumblebee did his part. No sooner had Jazz joined up with them to make their retreat had things spiraled downhill at an alarming rate.

Seekers seemed to always have an advantage, no matter what, due to their aerial abilities. Autobots couldn't fly without assist, as few Vocians and sky models had teamed with the Prime and most fell for Decepticon propaganda. In this case, Decepticon insignia bearing Seekers had found their small post and began to fire down on them like an acid storm. The only reason their photon charges had been cut off was because of the Twins stupidly brave move of Jet Judo, self-named by them despite the way it was usually done half blinded with rage and spur of the moment _non_-reasoning.

With the Seekers either down with wounds or offlined, it had evened the board out. Hand-to-hand combat replaced weapons as blades and fists swung about, the motive the same on both sides- kill or be killed.

Prowl had known that something was absolutely not right the moment the Seeker squad had pulled back without so much as even a cry of retreat. As much as Prowl was loathe to admit it, the Cons had had the upper hand as they were outnumbered almost 3 to 1.

When the chunky, plastic cylinder plunked in the midst of them, the very energon in their tubes had frozen. Jazz was the first to react, the pineapple grenade in forest green rolling far enough to hit his foot, and snapping him from his stupor. His shout of 'Git!' had been more than enough to whip their T-cogs into action and get the Pit out of there as Jazz tossed the grenade straight up, following suit of the others.

Prowl frowned deeply, creases forming on his forehelm as he mentally cursed his own speed. While it was true, he had been an Enforcer before the war his presence _and _his alt. mode was feared by perps and the Twins alike for its sirens and what it stood for, but his job there had been rather similar to the one here and had involved more paperwork then he cared to recall. And thus, through no fault of his own, he had allowed his tires to get soft in their disuse.

Jazz had easily passed him, calling encouragement to him to pick up speed. The next thing any of them knew, a deafening boom sounded behind them, gravity pulling the mushroom cloud back down and spreading it out around the retreating Autobots. After that, each had experienced waking up under the frightening gaze of Ratchet.

Finishing the report and filling in his own account of the mission, Prowl set it aside in another small box, preparing them to be sent to Optimus for final evaluation and filing.

Prowl vented, setting his stylus down. His doorwing flinched as he hid a grimace, reaching up to rub at his audios. Ratchet had said the ringing could go on for a quartex, but he had never said anything about them _aching_.

He'd dealt with audio problems before, going back as far as he could remember as a youngling. He had had only one fear then- the common sniffles. It was more for the pain it would bring to his audios then of being a germaphobe, but it still had been very unpleasant.

His audios felt very similar to how they had as a youngling with the sniffles. Except now, instead of them feeling clogged, they rang instead. Primus, could he never just get a break?

He started, nearly leaping from his seat, as a hand touched his shoulder. Whirling around to face the intruder, he scowled as none other then Jazz looked back at him, a hand over his own spark.

"Primus, Prowler!" Jazz exclaimed, feeling his rapidly beating spark. "Ah didn' mean ta scare ya."

"Why didn't you knock?" the Praxian demanded, turning away to keep himself from glaring.

"Ah did." Jazz stated, walking around to the front of the desk. He hated talking to people's backs. "Ya never answered so Ah figured that ya were too wrapped up in yer work." he smirked. "From the looks of it, Ah'd say ya weren't doin' much o' nothin'."

Prowl scowled openly this time, allowing Jazz to take in the full glory of _his _slagged-off look. "I had finished my reports."

Jazz perked up, visor brightening. "So...yer done?"

"In essence." Prowl returned, picking up the stylus that had been jarred in his jump and neatly placing it beside the data-pad. "I still need to bring these to Optimus for evaluation."

"But then you'll be done." Jazz continued, slowly wandering towards the door. If Prowl was gonna leave soon, he might as well take off himself. "Join meh for some 'gon after shift?"

His face fell as he received no answer, and turned back. Prowl was hunched back over his desk, correcting a few minor details on the pad. For what it was worth, it looked as if Prowl hadn't even heard him.

The Praxian lifted his helm, surprise and confusion flashing through his optics for a brief second wondering as to why Jazz was still standing there. "Yes, Jazz?"

"Ah asked if ya could join meh for some energon after yer shift." the visored mech repeated, raising his voice a bit and noticing how Prowl didn't seem to notice.

"Of course." Prowl gave a single nod. "Is that all?"

"Yeah." Jazz bobbed his helm. "See ya, then."

Prowl watched as the door slid shut before returning to his work. Actually, to be honest, it wasn't his work at all. Both Jazz and Sideswipe needed to learn that spell check wasn't only an option button on the top of the data-pad, it was absolutely _necessary _for some bots.

* * *

Optimus rubbed at his optics, free to do so without judgment in the safety of his office. The time seemed to slow down the later it got in the evening, dragging it's feet and taking it's, well, time in getting to the next klik. All he was waiting on now was the final reports of the mission, due any nano-sec from his SIC tactician.

He vented in relief as a loud knock sounded at his door, and a familiar EM field of his second radiated behind the locked door. Pressing a button, he called out. "It's open."

He paused, grabbing up a data-pad and a finished report to at least look busy when Prowl came in. The end of his stylus tapped the desk as the door never slipped open, and instead another set of knocks sounded.

"It's open, Prowl." Optimus called again, setting the pen aside as the door remained firmly sealed. He lifted a digit to his temple as his comm. beeped, the same signal there as behind the door.

: Prowl to Optimus Prime. : The cool if not slightly confused voice of his SIC sounded in his audio.

: This is Optimus. I'm in my office. : Optimus replied, and answered, gently.

Exactly one klik passed before the door slid open, the Praxian stepping in and closing it once more. "My apologies, sir, I-"

Optimus lifted a hand, silencing the mech. "It's all right, Prowl. It was only a mistake. Now, do you have the reports?"

"Here, sir." Prowl replied, placing three data-pads on his desk. One was merely an extra Prowl had received of a medical based Intel sheet on the mission and already seen by Optimus. The second was an in-depth explanation of the mission step-by-step, and the third a simple overview and outline.

Optimus sat patiently, listening to the thorough explanation given to him. For a mech who showed little emotion other than cold indifference, he could usually paint a vivid picture of just about anything he needed to with only a few details.

Once Prowl had finished speaking, signaling the end of his reports, Optimus gave a single nod. "Thank you, Prowl."

Gravity pulled down the mech's face, a frown marring it. The helm went to tilt, but straightened. "I'm sorry, sir?"

Now it was Optimus' turn to frown, only his well hidden behind his battle mask. "I said thank you, Prowl. You are dismissed."

Prowl dipped his helm and wings in a formal acknowledgment before turning an leaving. Once the door was good and locked again, Optimus slumped back into his seat, scrubbing his faceplates once more. Glancing at his close enough to empty inbox to call it done he rose, more than ready for fuel and a few joors of recharge before beginning all over again.

* * *

This couldn't be happening. Of all the things that could be happening right now, this was the most terrible thing of all. He could not _sleep_. No matter how hard he tried, recharge continued to evade him, like trying to catch the wind in his hand.

Prowl vented as he swung himself into a sitting position, pedes dangling off the berth as he all but gave up on recharge. His doorwings drooped tiredly, looking rather much like the way Swoop did when he had been struck down with a light virus.

He rubbed a black hand over similarly colored metal on the side of his helm, especially his aching audios. Venting, he willed it away, relaxing as it eased away. It wasn't the pain that was bothering him, though. No, he could deal with a bit of pain, sleep through it easily. What was driving him absolutely _insane _was the Primus-damned ringing!

All he wanted was five breems of absolute silence, just long enough for him to power down his systems and pass out. That was all. Shuttering his optics tight, he tried to will away the whistle the way he had the ache.

He fell back, face first, onto the pillow with a tired groan. He forced himself to look at his chronometer, even though he could honestly care less about the time. He groaned again, pressing his face firmer into the pillow as the time all but screamed to him the late hour, and the fact that he had to get up in three joor.

Three joor. That was about... four or five data-pads, possibly six if the reports were simple. There was a pleasant thought, maybe tomorrow all of his reports would be simple. No battles, no body counts, no infinite amount of medical supplies. Maybe it would be nothing but easy routine patrols, with no activity sighted on them, status reports on Decepticon no-shows, and no reports filed against the Twins for a latest antic.

Prowl would have been pleased to see himself fall asleep, processor full of sweet dreams of near reportless orns and Twinless halls.

* * *

"Aren't you a pretty sight." Jazz said with lifted optic ridge as Prowl all but crawled to the energon dispenser. His doorwings, while held up high enough to seem normal at a distance, had a distinct droop to them. There was no way Prowl could hide the darkened crescents under his optics, or the purple streaks marring his dim optics.

"Mute it." the mech growled, sounding like Ironhide without his morning caffeine boost.

"Rough night?" Jazz asked, leaning against mentioned energon dispenser as he sipped his own cube of smooth mid-grade.

Prowl muttered something Jazz wasn't too sure he wanted to hear. He shook whatever comment Prowl had said like Hound did mud, and continued on. "Are ya sure ya ain't cummin down with somethin', mech? Ah mean, ya really don' look good."

"I'm fine, Jazz." Prowl replied curtly as he sipped his drink, feeling the energon flow through his systems and lift both his energy and mood. "If you'd excuse me, I have a lot of work to finish."

"Sure, whatever." Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor as the Praxian left. He raised a silvery optic ridge as Prowl all but knocked down a random bot on his way out. Odd, as Prowl never, _ever_, collided with anything except his work head on. He never tripped or stumbled, was never clumsy, and he _never _walked into anything, let alone another bot.

"My apologies." Prowl rumbled lowly, trying to mask the heat growing in his face by ducking him helm and hurrying out.

Jazz drummed a digit against his cube, face scrunched in thought. While he _was _deep in thought, a bot in Special Operations never allowed themselves to become completely oblivious to his surrounding. His EM field picked up another field, slowly creeping up behind him. He continued to play coy, even as the red frame snuck in from behind and prepared to pounce,

"Hey, Sideswipe." Jazz hummed, turning at the last possible klik, catching the crimson twin with his servos up as if trying to grab the Polyhexian.

"Slag it, Jazz!" Sideswipe slapped his thigh. "I almost had you that time."

Jazz hummed in mock thought, contemplating the matter, before shaking his helm. "No, ya didn't."

"Really?" Sideswipe asked hopefully. "Because, it looked like, for a moment there, that I-"

"Ah knew ya were there the whole time." Jazz confirmed, drawing the last sip from his cube and tossing it into a recycling bin. "Face it, mech, ya jus' aren't gonna be able ta surprise meh."

Sideswipe scowled, sniffing once. "Oh, yeah? I've scared every bot on this base, excluding you, Prowl, and Mirage."

Jazz snorted. "Mirage? Aren't ya forgettin' the Prime, now?" Primus, now _that _would be something to see. Especially whatever punishment came with it.

The look on Sideswipe's face told Jazz that he had missed that punishment. "Actually... I got Optimus once. It wasn't pretty. I was actually aiming for Ironhide, but-"

"'Hide?" Jazz asked, wide visored. "Primus mech, ya really do have a death wish."

Sideswipe sniffed again. "Yeah, that wasn't pretty either."

Jazz chuckled, only to stop and flinch as Sideswipe cleared his olfactory sensors with a gust of air- a sneeze. "Cover yer face!" he reprimanded in disgust.

Sideswipe sniffed as he wiped the back of his hand over his olfactory. "Sorry. Sunny's taken out his paint-stuffs again. The fumes are really bad in our room."

Jazz's visor darkened in place of his narrowing optics. "Never known the smell of paint ta bother ya."

"Usually doesn't." Sideswipe continued to emphasize his words with frequent sniffles.

"Whatever." Jazz scoffed, an alert in his HUD schedule drawing him away from the conversation. "Slag, gotta run. If ah'm late for security watch again Red Alert'll have mah helm."

"Aw." Sideswipe waved the Polyhexian off. "Just tell him there's a Con breech. He'll start fritzing and leave ya alone."

Jazz only nodded, getting the feeling that Sideswipe himself had tried this at least once himself before. "Ah'll keep that in mind."

Sneezing into his hand, Sideswipe waved a hasty good-bye, taking up a cube for himself and turning on the energon dispenser. Jazz shuddered, glad that he had gotten his _before _Sideswipe.

* * *

Author's Note- Thank you to **RafaelplusMikey** for proof-reading this. :)

This story is hear by dedicated to all those like me with any kind of 'handicap', especially those who are hearing impaired or deaf.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Sweet relief! Prowl lifted his helm from his work as he suddenly realized just how _silent _the room was. There was no Ring in C Minor or buzz in the back of his audio to distract him from his work, as he looked over the large and growing pile of finished pads. Now that he thought of it, he _had_ been able to get a good five joors of recharge before his shift instead of the two joors he had been able to snag the past few nights.

Now...if only he could shake the ache, all would be right with the war-torn world. His spark sank as he reviewed a report on the recent news going about the base and planet. The city of Voc, city of Seekers and Flyers, the capital of grace and center of fine arts, had sided with the Decepticons. What those with wings saw in the red opticed, purple marked Cons, he'd never know. The only logical explanation he had found so far was that they were either bribed or forced into joining, not that far-fetched when one considered the power of Deceit.

A ping in his helm drew him away from his thoughts and a digit to his temple. "This is Prowl."

: Hey, Prowler, it's Jazz. : A doorwing twitched at the nickname. : Ah was wonderin' if ya were still in yer office. :

"I am." Prowl replied simply, holding in a vent of irritation. He had a lot of work to do, his hopes of an easy day blown away as Voc decided to side themselves instead of remaining neutral. As of now it was Iacon versus Kaon, the latter now with back-up in Voc.

: Ah jus' got a comm. from Ratch. sayin' that ya gotta change the rosters again. : Jazz stated sullenly.

Prowl refrained from groaning. Who was injured now, and couldn't they have waited until the new schedule had been up a quartex? "Who needs to be exempt and for what reasons?" he asked as professionally as he could, hiding his irritation as he grabbed a blank pad and his always-handy stylus.

: Sideswipe's, for one of 'em. : Jazz started. Prowl hesitated only two kliks before writing it down. Sideswipe? That could mean only a few things. He was in the brig, he was injured, of he was ill. Over 90% of the time, it was the first that kept Sideswipe from his duty.

"Reasons?" Prowl pressed, adding Hound, Gears, and Bumblebee to the list as Jazz rattled them off.

: There's an epidemic of the sniffles goin' around. : Jazz all but laughed. Prowl froze, pressing his comm. to speak.

"Is that all?" he deadpanned. "You made it seem much worse."

: Nah, nothin' that bad. : Jazz snorted. : Ratch's pretty ticked, though. He's got them all locked up in their rooms ta keep 'em quarantined. :

"I thought Ratchet had more sense then that." Prowl mused. Who kept bots from work because of a simple _cold_? As far as he knew he, they weren't dieing.

: Eh, Ah kinda agree. : Prowl could see the Polyhexian shrug as he spoke. : If it got around enough, every bot would have it. Can ya picture how bad it'd be if Ah sent a bot out on a covert mission- like Mirage- and he sneezed and _blew_ his cover? :

Prowl frowned as Jazz laughed at the poor pun, just barely getting it himself. In spite of the bad joke, Prowl could see the logic of keeping the few bots -just four in total- away from others to keep the spread of disease to a minimum. It also wasn't ideal to have tired, sick solders trying to hold their own in a battle, or in Jazz's example, stay hidden while suppressing coughs while curled up in vents.

"Tell Ratchet that I will have the rosters updated as needed. Thank you for the information, Jazz." Prowl replied as he saved his work on his first pad to turn to the duty rosters. "Is that all you will be needing?"

: Also, : Jazz added, making Prowl freeze just at how suggestive and warning the mech's tone was. : Ratch said that he wants to see _you_. :

"Me? But I'm not ill or injured." Prowl argued slightly. Did Ratchet w_ant_ him exposed to the germ going about and catch it?

: Doc said 'e called ya five times and that ya never answered his comms. Ah've gotten a few complaints about ya ignorin' others, Optimus too. : Jazz mused, his speech as scattered about as his processor.

"I haven't ignored anyone." Prowl stated firmly, hesitating after a second. "Other than you."

The visor mech snorted over the line. : Hey, Ah don' know what the Doc wants, just that he wants ya. He said he'll comm. and that he _wa__nts_ you to answer. :

"Then get off the line." Prowl said crisply.

Jazz snorted. : Fine, come see meh after ya see the Doc, though. Ah wanna know what's up. :

"I will." Prowl promised as he disconnected the link. He returned back to his work after waiting a klik. All that he could do now was wait for Ratchet's comm. and hope that he caught it the first time to save himself the wrath that was Ratchet.

* * *

It took every ounce of willpower in him, every shred of self-confidence, and every fiber of his being to _not_ bolt out of the med-bay the second the pair of cobalt optics settled on him, a red and white frame marching in a way that would have Ultra Magnus envious, right towards him.

"Well, I see that your comm. _does_ work after all." Ratchet stated with that intimidating lift of his olfactory, a look of fury in his optics that gave Unicron a run for his title.

"I have been expierencing nothing that requires medical assistance." Prowl stated truthfully, as truthfully as his processor allowed, anyways. "I am rather confused as to why you have summoned me here."

Ratchet rolled his optics. "Do you know how many complaints have been filed against you?"

Prowl slowly shook his helm. "I was unaware that there were any until Jazz informed me about a joor ago."

The medic snorted. "It's close to twenty."

Prowl felt his optics widen against his will. Twenty complaints about _him_? It must be something big if Ratchet called him out on it. What was something medical, though, that caused a score of mechs to complain about it and wasn't addressed first by the Prime? He lifted his optics to the medic, silently questioning him, as his processor came up blank.

"Each one is frighteningly similar." Ratchet continued on, only after he was certain he had Prowl's full attention once again. "Ignorance, on your part. Each one, Prowl, is a complaint about you ignoring some bot or another, your own comm. system, and at least two of them are disobeying orders."

His processor stalled, the tight feeling of his CPU seizing before a crash enough forewarning for him to try to ward it off. As far as he was concerned, he had done nearly everything asked of him, and said when he could not. Every ordered Prime had given him was carried out to the fullest. He had answered his comm. plenty that past quartex. Was this some kind of prank?

"I've taken the liberty of going through some of your past medical records." Ratchet paused, letting everything he had spoken up to this point settle in. "You are aware of your audio troubles as a youngling?"

"I am." Prowl refrained from venting out. It had been when he was a _youngling_. Vorns and vorns ago. "That was quite a long time ago, though. It was corrected then."

"Was it, now?" Ratchet snarked. "As far as I can tell, you had a few hearing tests and given a drug, but that was the extent of it."

Prowl gave a nod. "Nothing was ever found wrong with them. In fact," he paused, refraining from shifting as his frame started to heat. He cleared his throat. "In fact, I was told that it was all in my helm."

"Did it hurt?" Ratchet asked, receiving a small nod in turn. "Were you making it up for attention?"

"Of course not." Prowl frowned deeply. It had been more his creators forcing him to go for medical treatment than of his own free will and desire to be poked and prodded by ignorant medics of all sorts.

"Then who are they to say that?" the CMO demanded with a huff. "Now, _I_ want to know. Are you still having audio problems, or was it s_elf_-corrected over time?"

Pausing only a second to form his words, Prowl replied. "My audios have been fine up to the explosion. That seemed to have set them off all over again."

"So, they hurt now?" Ratchet pressed, optics firmly planted on the Praxian in a way that made it completely impossible to ignore or lie.

"Ache, really. Nothing terrible." Prowl gave a small shrug of indifference. "The ringing did stop."

"But..." Ratchet paused, silently ordering Prowl to finish.

"They do ring still from time to time, but nothing-"

"You can't handle. Yeah." Ratchet rolled his optics. He crossed his servos comfortably over his chassis, continuing on like a good doctor should to help heal his patient. "Your past medical records also show some hearing loss, but nothing done to help that either. Care to explain?"

"The hearing loss was minimal, as the record _s__hould_ show." Prowl stated firmly, rather irritated at the medic for digging so much into this. "The only time it really showed was when there were multiple or loud noises."

"Why you avoid crowds?" Ratchet questioned with a lopsided smirk.

"Partially." came the cool reply.

Ratchet hummed in thought, optics plastered on the doorwinger's frame as if staring at him would solve the problem. After a moment, he pushed himself from the shelving compartment he had been leaning on and motioned for Prowl to turn his helm.

Humming in a way to try to keep Prowl from hearing his disappointment, which wasn't too hard if he kept it low, he turned to look in the other one. "I don't see anything to be causing you pain."

Prowl's doorwings dipped fractionally. "So you concur with the other medics?"

Ratchet snorted harshly. "Frag, no."

"What do you suggest, then?" Prowl asked, a glimmer of what Ratchet could only call hope shining briefly in his optics.

Ratchet tapped his pede in thought for a nanosec. "You've obviously had a hearing test before..." Prowl nodded in confirmation. Ratchet continued on. "However, it was quite awhile ago. I want you to have another."

"Right now?" Prowl cocked an optic ridge. "In case you were not aware, there _is_ a war and a great limitation on specialists."

"Who said anything about _sending_ you to an audiologist?" Ratchet asked, that gleam in his optics that all but said aloud that he was going to get his way. "A hearing test, if you remember correctly, is easy."

"You wish to conduct one?" Prowl asked, neither his voice nor any part of his frame giving away any emotion.

"Not me." Ratchet shook his helm, quickly continuing as Prowl cantered his helm. "Wheeljack. He's better at that sort of thing. Why do you think he makes the parts I need to patch you all up?"

"And when would this test be conducted?" Prowl questioned. In his processor, the sooner the better. Who know what could and would happen next.

"I'd like it to happen as soon as possible." Ratchet stated in agreement with Prowl's thoughts. "Tomorrow."

Well, that certainly _was_ soon. "I believe I can do that." Prowl stated, mentally figuring out how he would have to clear his schedule.

Ratchet snorted. "Of course ya can. You're off duty until I get the tests. That is, barring an emergency." Well, that cleared his schedule right up.

Prowl growled audibly, not caring how it made him look, or how it made Ratchet smirk. "I can't have you going about your work when you're not getting even half your messages and commands." As Prowl continued to glower, Ratchet vented. "It's only one orn."

"Fine." Prowl huffed, rising to his pedes. "Am I free to leave?"

"Yeah." Ratchet vented with a nod. "I'll comm. you. Or Jazz, if you don't get it."

Respectfully, Prowl dipped his helm for the proper amount of time before making his retreat. Ratchet waited only a klik before pressing his comm., a cheery voice answering in return.

: You've reached Wheeljack. : the ever-perky voice chirrped over.

"Jack, how quickly can you throw together some equipment?" Ratchet half-asked half-ordered.

: Erm...depends. What do you want and when? : Wheeljack asked, completely used to Ratchet's mastering attitude and demand for things.

"I need some audiology sets by tomorrow." Ratchet replied shortly.

: Come again? : Wheeljack questioned.

Ratchet growled, slamming his digit into his comm. as his all ready frazzled nerves sizzled away. "Do you need your audios checked too?"

: No! : Wheeljack exclaimed. : I'll... start working on it right now. :

"Good." Ratchet snorted. "Comm. me when you've finished.

: All right I- : Wheeljack started, only to lower as Ratchet cut the line. "...will." He vented, rubbing his optics in preparation for all the work thrown at him. "Primus, I'm gonna be all up night."

* * *

Jazz frowned as Prowl finished explaining, looking a tad sheepish as he fell silent. It continued on for several more breems, stopping only as Jazz vented.

"Doc wants ta look at ya tomorrow, hmm?" Jazz repeated sullenly. "Cuz yer audios are still buggin' ya."

"It's more Ratchet than I." Prowl replied, perhaps slightly sharper than he intended. Primus, the only reason he was telling Jazz all this was because the mech had made him promise.

"Care fer some company, then?" Jazz suggested.

"For the test?" Prowl lifted a black optic ridge. It lifted just so much higher as Jazz nodded. "Why would you wish to assist me for such a simple test? I've been through them before."

Jazz shrugged a shoulder, kicking back in his seat. "Support, jus' some company, cuz Ah'm curious." he listed off.

Prowl vented as he shook a lowered helm. "If you wish to come just to observe, I don't mind. I don't need support, though."

"What about company?" Jazz asked, leaning forward in his seat and grinning.

Prowl vented. "The company...would be appreciated." he admitted after a klik.

"Good." Jazz grinned with a decisive nod. "Cuz Ah woulda come relentless."

"I know you would have." Prowl replied, with the closest thing to a smirk pulling on the edges of his lips.

Jazz returned the smirk full on, only letting the cheerful facade fall after Prowl had left Jazz alone to his quarters, to his own thoughts and worries about his friend.

* * *

Swallowing to squelch the nervous fluttering in his tanks, Prowl returned Wheeljack's beaming face and flashing ear fins with a calm nod.

"Hey, Jack!" Jazz replied a bit more cheerfully then Prowl had. He glanced around the lab, noticing that nothing really looked off. "So...where's this test gonna take place?"

Wheeljack chuckled. "Not right here, if that's what you're thinking." He shook his helm. "No, for this test it has to be absolutely quiet."

"It will be conducted in the soundproof, I assume?" Prowl asked, eyeing the well protected, boxey, tiny room-within-a-room used to conduct controlled explosions. Its walls were sound proofed with a small, bullet-proof window for observation. In this case, it doubled as a perfect sound proof room to conduct the audiology test.

"Yep." Wheeljack confirmed, opening the door to the soundproof in the process. "From what Ratchet says, you're used to these, so I'm not going to go into detail with you."

_At least something will save time in this waste_. Prowl mused dryly as he took the offered seat and small handheld.

"Can Ah watch?" Jazz asked, glancing about the soundproof. A speaker had been added to the upper right corner, and a small assortment of audiomuffs sat on the testing counter.

"Not in here." Wheeljack, pointing at the door with his free hand as he took up a pair of the muffs. "You can watch outside with me."

"All righ'." Jazz obliged, meandering from the small room until he was seen on the opposite side of the glass, making absurd faces from time to time in an effort to distract Prowl.

"Do those fit okay?" Wheeljack asked as he took a step back to inspect his work. His voice came muffled through the small, square muffs over his audios, leading out of the soundproof via a thin wire.

"Yes." Prowl replied, refraining from nodding to keep them in place. It just wouldn't do to have them slide off.

Wheeljack gave a satisfied nod before turning and leaving, closing the door behind him. For the breem or so it took for him to prep on the outside, it left Prowl completely in a heavy silence. If it weren't for the material fabric rubbing over his audios and his own breathing, it would have been overwhelming.

Prowl turned his helm towards the speaker as Wheeljack's voice came over it, even more muffled than before now that he had the audiomuffs on.

"All right, Prowl. I'm sure you know what's going to happen, but a series of beeps at different decibals are going to sound. Click your device every time you hear one, and then we'll move on." Wheeljack stated, his optic ridges crinkling with his mask-hidden smile.

"I understand." Prowl replied, knowing that somewhere in the room there was a microphone for Wheeljack to hear him.

"Good." Wheeljack replied before shutting of the speaker, the curtain of silence falling over him once more.

The first beep sounded, high and long. He clicked.

* * *

"So...all he's gotta do is push that button whenever he hears somethin'?" Jazz asked, watching the black digit on the other side press down again, the click coming up as a dot on a data-pad Wheeljack had connected to some odd wire.

"Yep." Wheeljack replied, busy on a spare pad and taking notes. Each one was in synch with the beeps as either 'Missed', 'Hesitant', or 'Non-Hesitant'.

"Seems easy enough." Jazz stated, flinching as a lower beep went by the screen, unclicked. Another one followed at a lower level, going up again only to be missed.

"It does, unless you have bad hearing." Wheeljack frowned as he wrote down another 'Missed'.

Jazz watched as the last beep went by, a very high pitch, and couldn't help but vent on relief as it was instantly clicked.

Wheeljack leaned forward, pressing a button. "All right, now we'll move on to the next test."

"Fine." Prowl's stoic, unemotional voice came through a small speaker on the other side of the soundproof.

"I recorded some words that will be played for you. Just repeat them as they come." Wheeljack said merrily, not a single hint in his voice if Prowl had done poorly on the first test or not. "It's all right to guess if you need to."

Prowl gave a single nod, his hand quickly flying up to straighten the small muff as it slipped. "I'm ready."

A smirk crossed Jazz's face as some of the words went by, written on his side but heard-hopefully-by Prowl. Some words were simple, a noun of this or that, a building's name or a city. Some were a bit silly, 'Optimus Prime' as one of them. Wheeljack had only shrugged under Jazz's playfully reprimanding gaze. As the words got into compound, Prowl started to miss them or only repeat half of them back. The look on his face and frequent blinks showed he was struggling.

Wheeljack stopped it half-way, obviously having enough information to go off of. "All right. One more test. I managed to snag some recordings from around the base. There will be alot of noise going on, as most were taken from the Rec. room. I want you to listen for an order of some sort from a higher up, and click your device when you hear it."

"I understand." Prowl replied, his voice still dry and collective.

Wheeljack started the sound sequences, watching the screen carefully. After half a breem, the order came through the noise, marked with words on his screen. The click never came.

"He missed it." Jazz pointed out.

"Shhh." Wheeljack reprimanded harshly. "He might not hear you in there, but he might be able to read your lips. It'll screw up the test."

Jazz ducked his helm apologetically. "Sorry."

Wheeljack vented, starting the sequence over. Again, it was missed. He hid a frown, turning it up decible by decible until finally-

_Click_.

Wheeljack marked it down, starting another sequence until he was satisfied. Prowl lifted his helm, looking up at them from the inside and unshuttering his optics.

"Just give me a klik to straighten up this info, and then I'll unhook you." Wheeljack called in. He pressed the button again as Prowl moved to remove the audiomuffs. "Don't, I'll do that. Ratch'll kill me if something happened to them and he needed the test taken again."

"My apologies." came the reply as Prowl's hand fell back neatly into his lap.

His optics turned towards the doors as it opened, letting in the technician. He sat immobile as Wheeljack carefully slid the muffs from his audios, laying them down more gingerly then he would a motion activated bomb.

Prowl rose from his seat, relieved as lubricants flowed into his knee joints from the previous sitting position, loosening them up. He refrained from stretching as he addressed the smaller mech. "When will the reports be in?"

"You can take my intel down to Ratch, if you're heading down that way." Wheeljack replied, already taking down the speaker and removing the hidden mic from under the chair. _Smart_. "I'm sure Ratchet'll review it and tell you right there."

"All right." Prowl gave a single nod. "Thank you."

"No problem." Wheeljack chirped out, almost tripping over a wire he was dragging as he set down the speaker.

Prowl didn't even try to refrain from rolling his optics as he went to pick up Wheeljack's reports, only to have Jazz swoop in at the last second and snatch them up. "Ah got 'em." he said helpfully, grinning at the scowl.

* * *

The walk to the med-bay was nearly as quiet as it had been in the soundproof. The nervousness in Prowl's gut was worse than when he had been in the Academy, worrying over a completed test and awaiting his final grade.

"Were you able to see how I did?" Prowl asked, unable to keep his vocalizer silent any longer.

Jazz snorted. "Like Ah'd tell ya. Ah ain't no medic, an' Ah don' wanna tell ya somethin' Ah'm not sure of."

Prowl cussed beneath his breath. His optics fell on the few data-pads Jazz held on his hand. "Would you allow me to look at those, then?"

"Nope." came the quick, easy reply. He lifted his hands, data-pad and all, at the audible growl. "Hey, these are Ratchet's!"

"They are _my_ reports." Prowl stated, an idea passing through his processor. It was worth a try, at least. "I order you to let me see them."

"Nice try." Jazz snorted. "Ratch put ya on med. leave. Ya got no rank ta pull."

Prowl's scowl deepened and remained in place until they had reached the med-bay. Thankfully, Ratchet had been expecting them and had greeted them in his own manner as soon as the med-bay doors had slid open.

"Give 'em here." Ratchet ordered as the doors slid closed, snatching the data-pads away the moment they were lifted from next to Jazz's thigh. He waved towards the great spance which was the med-bay with one hand as he wandered towards his office, optics fixated on the pad. "Just sit down anywhere. Be right with ya."

Jazz shrugged a shoulder as the door to Ratchet's office slid closed. With a grace and style all his own, he flopped down onto a berth, grinning widely.

"Get off of there." Prowl rumbled as he seated himself on a rolling stool.

"Why?" Jazz demanded, looking up from his laid back position. "Ratch said ta sit down _any_where."

"Yes, but you are _lieing _down." Prowl pointed out. "What if someone comes in who is injured or ill?"

"Then they can go into another berth." Jazz stated, laying his helm back with that cheeky grin of his. "Ratch said anywhere. If he didn' mean it, then he shouldn' say it."

Prowl vented, shaking his helm at his stubborn friend. There was simply no logic to his actions. Well, Jazz had been logical once. The logic turned illogical to Prowl-who had expected a witty ad _illogical_ comment-causing him to crash. Jazz had yet to let him live that down.

Prowl was pulled from his thoughts as Ratchet appeared before them, scowling at Jazz. The Polyhexian yelped as his pede was slapped harshly, causing him to jump up.

"Get off of there, you idiot." Ratchet groused. He turned to Prowl, who had risen to his pedes during the process of swatting the pest.

Jazz grumbled as he swung himself up, his playful grin melting away to complete seriousness as he stood to his pedes. "Ya figure out what's wrong with Prowler?"

Ratchet chose to ignore Jazz's tactless comment as Prowl took care of the glare for him. "Nice, Jazz. That aside, I have been able to go over the reports Wheeljack sent you in with."

"And?" Prowl pressed, any worry in him masked in his voice. Almost.

"You have lost more hearing since your last test." Ratchet stated sullenly. "There isn't much, or anything, I can do for that." He continued on, quickly as a certain set of doorwings fell ever so slightly. "You can turn up your comm. volume to a decible that you can hear it and listen harder, for now. I'm going to talk to Wheeljack about construction on an aid."

Ratchet wasn't the least bit surprised as a frown pressed into Prowl's face. "An aid? Such as..."

"A hearing aid." Ratchet confirmed, using a very 'well, duh, what did you think?' kind of voice. At the deeper frown, he lifted a hand. "You hearing test is still pretty good, a little more than _bare minimum_ but not much. In fact, I don't think you'd really need the aid in your down time, if you didn't want to wear it then."

Jazz tilted his helm. "Down time? What down time?"

"That just occurred to me as well." Ratchet snorted. "_Anyways_ that's about all I can do, unless things start going downhill."

"What would happen then?" Prowl asked tensely.

The medic hesitated only a moment. "We'll discuss that _if_ and only _if_ it comes to that."

With an incline of his helm, Prowl spoke. "Very well. Will that be all?"

Ratchet nodded. "Yeah. Oh-" his sharp interjection halted both black and white mechs in their steps. "I'd do whatever I could to avoid that cold going around, if I were you."

"Why? Not like a cold's gonna kill ya." Jazz smirked. That would be news, 'Sniffles Kill Autobot SIC. More at 11.'

"Perhaps not to us, but a cold _will_ most likely irritate his audios as well as potentially cause more hearing loss." Ratchet stated firmly, not an ounce of teasing in his frame.

After a klik of silence passed without an answer, the two figured that to be their dismissal, and took leave of the med-bay before a wrench was weilded and launched. The silence continued on, nearly suffocating, until Jazz took a breath in.

"So..." he drawled awkwardly. "Guess that didn' go as expected, did it?"

"On the contrary." came the clipped, smooth counter. "I was prepared for worse news."

"Such as?" Jazz asked with slightly widened visor.

Prowl looked at him, not a lick of emotion anywhere in his well-controlled frame. "Complete hearing loss."

"Ya say that like ya expected it ta happen." Jazz mused, studying the frame for anything other then the irritated flick of doorwings at the continued questioning. Jazz wasn't used in interrogation for nothing.

"I was told be a previous medic that I had a chance of completely loosing my hearing." Prowl replied dryly, not particularly liking this conversation.

Jazz hummed in distaste. "Sorry ta hear that." he started, stopping as he realised he had just slipped up. Prowl hadn't seemed to mind, or even notice. Vouching for a change of subject, Jazz tried again. "So... you doin' somethin' today?"

"I have reports I am getting behind in due to this setback." Prowl stated. "I do not require the use of my audios to write, so there is no point in wasting the rest of this orn."

"Weren't ya released for the orn?" Jazz lifted an optic ridge, mischievous smirk on his face.

Prowl gave a nod. "Yes, but Ratchet did not say what I could or could not do in the privacy of my own quarters."

"Nice." Jazz replied, not even trying to mask his sarcasm. "Well...Ah'll leave ya to it. Do try an' come to the Rec. room later on?"

"We'll see." came the answer, the speaker unlocking his door to depart. "Good orn, Jazz."

"Good orn." Jazz returned, venting as the door slid shut. He shrugged, turning around to go head of to one of his own activities. "That went well."

* * *

Author's Notes- Obviously, I am no audiologist. I've been through several though, but still have no idea how they read them. I kinda just played around with my idea, and if you know how to read an audiology test and my story's view isn't that- Then it's the Transformer's way! 

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. If not, give it to another author! (Or both of us, that'd be really nice)

DISCLAIMER- I do not own the Transformers franchise, nor any characters that belong to the owners of Transformers. If Michael Bay or Hasbro want to hand over the rights, then- YES! I'LL TAKE THEM! Michael Bay sucks as it is, killing of Ironhide and Jazz and making Sentinel Prime evil. (I liked him. Still do)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

Unshuttering his optics, one word was croaked from his lips.

"_Frag_."

If the sore throat, sluggish haze in his processor, and cold ache throughout his frame was nothing to go by, the congestion in his olfactories and audios certainly was. His optics felt like they had been sealed together with glue, and only after prying them open to greet the sunlight with a pound of his helm, he wished he could just shutter them back and forget about everything.

Venting heavily, he forced himself to sit up, and stumbled towards his private wash racks. He reached for the tap and proceeded to splash an alternation of the hottest liquid he could stand to the coldest on his face, and back again in hopes of warming up and _w____a_king up. Next he pulled open a drawer and slid a pain chip into his wrist, and vented in relief as his pounding helmache eased away to a dull throb.

Step One of 'Wake the frag up' was complete. On to Step Two- try to at least look semi-presentable.

For that, a quick shower was in store. He would have most likely taken one anyways with or without the sniffles he had managed to contract, but maybe not to such a high temperature. A hand flew over his mouth as the steam worked to try to decongest his chest, and he stifled a heavy cough. This was not his day.

After five breems, he had to remind himself that he actually had _work_ to do. Reluctantly, he turned off the warm spray and suppressed a shiver as the wet steam turned cold to his frame. He dried quickly, making sure every last nasty drop of fluid was off his frame to keep as warm as possible. Polish was applied, an uncontrolled shudder traveling up his spinal struts at how _cold_ the wax was.

He inspected himself in the mirror, manually adjusting his doorwings into a neutral position. It wasn't the best, but it would have to do. Thank Primus there were no big meeting today with delegates and potential Autobot supporters today.

Sliding the door open, he forced himself to fully great the day, only to have the day slap him in the face by coming face to face with the bot who started it all.

"Morning, Prowl! Slag, you look like scrap." Sideswipe snorted, taking in the not really sloppy but not 100 percent he was used to seeing Prowl at.

"Sideswipe." Prowl acknowledged lowly, trying to stifle the hoarseness but only managing to sound congested. He squashed the illogical thought of coughing on the mech for having started the epidemic. He probably had an immunity now, anyways.

Sideswipe snickered, laughing at the nasally, hoarse tone. "Looks like you caught the bug, hmm?"

Prowl's optic ridges knitted together as he tried to process just _what_ Sideswipe had said. It sounded as if his audios had been submerged under some sort of liquid and then covered while still underwater. He refrained from tilting his helm to try and catch what was said. "I'm sorry?"

"I said you caught the bug that's been going around!" Sideswipe continued to giggle like a schoolfemme, absolutely giddy that he had gotten his superior officer ill. He failed to realize that Prowl hadn't caught his words the second time either as he continued to ramble on, causing surges of aches through both ears and head of the Datsun.

"Sideswipe." Prowl silenced the mech with a slight cough and a raise of his hand. "I am not in mood for any of your antics. I suggest that you remain on your _best _behaviour."

Sideswipe nodded slowly, Prowl's tone anything but warning in that hoarse growl and demand. "Yes, sir." he replied sullenly, pranks of the day filed away for a later date. Or at least tonight.

"Speak up, solder." Prowl ordered sharply.

"Yes, sir." Sideswipe started, straightening into attention.

Prowl gave a single nod, accented by a wet cough, before turning and heading towards his office. He sank into his chair, locking the door behind him. Venting heavily, he rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to soothe away what was left of the helmache, hands slipping down to massage his audio lobes. Painkillers and chips did nothing for them, never had.

He shook it away, firmly placing his mind on the work and day ahead of him. He couldn't truly be sick if he didn't allow himself to be, right?

* * *

Wrong. Completely, absolutely _wrong_. Pushing it to the back of his mind only made him forget about the symptoms or ignore them. That in itself wasn't too bad, that is, until he _felt_ a buzz in the side of his helm.

Pressing his fingers to his comm., he could tell that the deep, monotonous voice was none other then his CO, Optimus Prime, but for the life of him he could not decode enough words in the garbled message to make a sentence. Turning up the volume made it a tad better, but still undistinguishable.

"Sir, forgive me for interrupting, but I'm going to switch this to an internal link." Prowl stated, hoping that he hadn't just been terribly rude but feeling that he had been.

'_Prowl? Is something wrong?' _the speech was instantly translated into glyphs within his HUD.

Pausing for a moment to see if he should answer orally or not, and then deciding against it due to his scratchy throat and congested voice, he replied. _'No, sir.' _Not entirely true, not entirely a lie.

_'I have just received a report from Ratchet.'_ Optimus stated.

Prowl swallowed once. It had taken this long, a total of nearly five orns, for Optimus to receive that? After the third day, he had started to hope that Optimus knew and was simply letting that matter lie. Guess not.

_'Yes, sir.'_ What else was he supposed to say? _'Please, believe me when I say that this should not hinder me from any of my duties.'_

_'It's not your work that I am worried about.' _came Optimus' message.

_'Sir, I have dealt with this for vorns, well since my younglinghood. There is no reason to make a big deal out of an easily fixed problem.' _Prowl stated confidently, or as confidently as a written message could appear to the reader.

There was a pause, leaving Prowl to only imagine just what Optimus was doing in during that time. _'Ratchet's report shows nothing about an antidote to the problem, besides that of an aid currently under construction.'_

It only took three kliks for Prowl to write out his next message and go to send it, only to have Optimus take his turn from him. _'Why don't you come down to my office. Despite your claims, this is no small matter and I would feel much better if it wasn't done in such an impersonal way as an internal comm.'_

Prowl swallowed again, flinching at the grating down his raw throat. He sniffed once, thankful that both were unseen by his CO. _'If it is not a problem, I would much rather continue this way or wait for a...'_ the message trailed off only a nanosec. _'...better time.'_

_'I understand your wish in not confronting this problem.'_ Oh, did he now? _'But it needs to be addressed. If it is _that_ difficult to hear right now without the use of your internal comms, perhaps another trip to Ratchet would be wise.'_

Prowl flinched. There was some truth to that, but only from the cold. He didn't need-nor want- to visit the Hatchet's lair, nor did he need this discussion with his Commander-in-Chief. _'My apologies, I misschose my words. I...'_ his message trailed off a klik again, more to save himself the humiliation then not knowing how to say it. _'I seem to have contracted whatever small virus has been going around. I would not like to infect you with it.'_

He could almost hear Optimus' chuckle at that, filling the small void before answering. _'In that case, I suppose some rest would be a better suggestion?'_

_'That is not necessary, sir.'_ Not in the very least bit. Wasn't he here, doing work already, despite feeling like slag? It wasn't an overly terrible virus, just the kind that made one just miserable and tired enough that their orn was utterly ruined. The kind that made a nice, warm berth and an equally warm if not hotter cube of energon look like a gift from the Well.

_'I understand Ratchet has been 'quarentining' bot who contract this?'_ Optimus questioned, the words glaring at the Praxian as smug. Well played, Optimus. Well played.

_'Yes, sir.'_ came the humble if not humbl_ing_ reply.

_'Then get some rest. We will continue this discussion at a better time.'_ Prowl frowned as he realized that it was not only a statement, it was an order on both counts.

_'Yes, sir.'_ Prowl said, stopping himself as he gave a nod, and feeling foolish for nodding to an empty room.

Before the comm. was disconnected, Optimus squeezed in the last word. _'Fell better.'_

Prowl vented as he felt more then heard the 'click' of the line being cut. He glanced over his partially finished report, contemplating if he should finish it or not. A direct order from his Prime and leader, though, was a direct order. He pushed back his chair and rose, splaying three digits on the desk for support as the room chose that moment to spin like a top.

"Frag." left his lips again as he shuttered his optics, willing the room to still.

Finally, after a good five breems of hoping gravity and vertigo didn't introduce him to the floor, he managed to steady himself enough to get to the door and key it open. He stepped forward, intending to cross into the hall onto to see a pair of similarly colored pede. He quickly looked up, stopping himself from a crash with a blue visored mech as he came olfactory to olfactory to Jazz.

_Gross_. crossed his mind as he jerked back, doorwings pressing against the now closed door to avoid sneezing, coughing, or breathing on the other mech.

"Dang, ya _do_ look like slag." Jazz stated, sounding insanely muffled to Prowl's audios. It felt as if he had been totally submerged in an oil bath, and someone was speaking to him from above. At least Jazz was more distinguishable then Optimus, having a higher voice.

"I was returning to my quarters." Prowl returned cooly, hoping his voice sounded better to Jazz then it did to him. The look on Jazz's face showed otherwise.

"Good. Ah was talkin' ta Sideswipe in the Rec. room. Well...he was actually talkin' 'bout ya with a bunch of other mechs an' Ah forced 'im ta tell meh what about then made 'im shut up." Jazz rattled off, stopping only as he noticed a rather disinterested if not blank face on the Praxian. He gave his friend a once over before asking. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just wish to get some rest." Prowl replied cooly, his voice unnaturally low as he continued up the hall.

Jazz lowered his voice as well, hating himself for doing so but wanting to test something out. "So, you hear about the attack at Towers? Looks like they wanna join our side. Hope so, too. Mirage ain't enough ta represent an entire city."

Jazz's spark sank as Prowl didn't seem to acknowledge him or his purposefully mumbled words, more absorbed with the clear laminated floors and his own pedes.

"Prowler?" Jazz tapped the mech as he lifted his voice to normal again.

"Yes?"Prowl returned with a sniff, stopping as he reached his door, typed in the open code, and turned towards his friend.

Jazz hesitated. After a klik, he shook his helm. "Nothin'. Hope ya feel better."

"Thank you." came the stuffed reply as Prowl retreated to his room, completely thankful to flop into his berth and fall into recharge.

* * *

"I can't fraggin' beleive it."

Prowl flinched as his chin was forcibly grabbed and roughly turned, a light briefly catching his optics as it zeroed in on his audios. He cleared his throat, catching the medic's attention, before speaking.

"Is something the matter?" Prowl questioned. Just what was Ratchet so worked up about? He wasn't the one who had had to endure a _second_ audiology test. A second one within _two quartex_.

"Well, that stupid cold I told you _not_ to get did cause fluid to build up in your audio." Ratchet stated, trying to cool his heated frame. It was a nasty habit to take things out on his patients, especially when it wasn't their fault or out of their control. Sideswipe was an exception to that rule, over 90% of his injures self-inflicted by stupidity.

"As my hearing is back to what it was before, I assume that it has drained on its own?" Prowl asked, relieved as his face was released and he was able to face the medic without being poked or prodded.

Ratchet hesitated, making a face of 'so-so' along with a hand of the same message. "The fluid has drained, but the new report from Wheeljack shows you've lost more hearing."

Prowl didn't try to hide the frown, although he did force his doorwings to perk back up into their original, neutral position. "I can handle that."

Ratchet only grumbled something unintelligible, at least from Prowl's end. Prowl wasn't entirely sure that he _wanted_ to know what Ratchet said. Without a word of warning, Ratchet turned and stormed out of the curtain drawn room, only to return in the same second with his one hand firmly clasped.

"Turn your helm, I want to get these situated." Ratchet ordered, motioning which way for Prowl to turn with his free hand.

Prowl obliged, catching a glint of silver flash by before a cold, and unmistakable feeling of a magnet clicked to his left audio. He lifted a hand to stop Ratchet as his helm was again forcibly turned.

"May I?" Prowl asked, holding out his hand for the second device.

Ratchet looked like he was going to argue for exactly 5.5 kliks, before venting and placing the small device in the palm of Prowl's hand.

Gingerly, Prowl ran a digit over the curved, crookedy device that was to go over his audio. It glared a bright, shiney sliver that caught and reflected everything from matter to light.

"They're silver." Prowl stated lowly, his optics fixated on it as if mesmerized. He stopped fingering it as he lifted a hand to touch the one on his helm, unable to hold back a flinch. There was no way they would be unseen by others. "Is there any way I can paint them to blend in more with my colors?"

Prowl lifted his helm to see the medic chewing his bottom lip, looking a hurt in his optics but keeping his thoughts to himself. "If we weren't so limited in materials, I'd let you pick any color you wanted. Paint, though, would cover the speakers, and wouldn't be any help to-"

Prowl nodded quickly, cutting the medic off. "This is the _only_ way?"

"As far as I can tell." Ratchet said, helm lowered slightly. "I will figure this out, but, for the time being, the aid is necessary."

Prowl vented heavily, rolling the aid in his hand, watching as the artificial lighting it picked up reflected into his hand. Without a word or lifted helm, he thrust his hand out, the device there for Ratchet to take.

With a soft vent of his own, Ratchet's digits grazed Prowl's palm, ghosting it as he took up the device and clicked it to Prowl's right audio. For the next four breems, he diligently adjusted, readjusted, and calibrated the aids until he was satisfied.

Lowering his voice as far as he dared, he asked Prowl a simple question. "Can you hear me?"

Instantly, Prowl dipped his helm in the positive. "I can."

Ratchet lifted his voice back to a normal tone. "Good. One more thing before you go."

"Yes?" Prowl asked, pleased when he didn't have to tilt or curve his helm to hear the mech.

Ratchet reached towards a tray, removing a flat, circular device with an equally flat handle. "You want to see them on?"

* * *

Jazz smiled as a familiar frame snuck into the Rec. room. It wasn't too common to see him there, especially recently, but it was good for the mech to get out once in a while. Even if only for a five breem break.

"Hey, Prowler!" Jazz called over loudly to the black and white frame over the energon dispensers. He flinched as he wondered if he should have just commed him from across the room.

He was greatly surprised as the mech turned his direction, a hand still holding his cube under the dispenser as ha gave a nod of acknowledgment. A moment later, Prowl made his way towards the other black and white mech in the room. The smile on Jazz's face faltered as Prowl came into better view.

He knew it was going to happen- Prowl had told him, Ratchet had warned him. It just looked so much _different_ in person than simply being explained. They glared the overhead lights, looking like miniature Wheeljack audio finials. If they had been any other color- black, blue, orange, yellow, red, electic green, or even hot pink- they would have been slightly less noticable. But shined, polished, metallic _s__ilver_? You'd have to be blind to miss them.

The look in Prowl's optics showed that he immediately knew what Jazz wa staring at. There was no way to duck his helm, as either one or both would always show. Instead, he kept his helm high. Why should he be shamed?

"Ratchet installed them yesterday." Prowl replied calmly, not even a hint of embarrassment in his voice, in contrast to his clenching spark.

Jazz nodded hurriedly, glancing down. "Ah think they look good on ya."He looked up in time to see an optic ridge slide up. "What?"

"Nothing." Prowl shook his helm, dismissing his idea. Jazz ticked off three kliks, lifting his cube just as Prowl spoke. "They look _good_?"

Jazz refrained from snorting, nodding his helm instead. "Ah think so. An', they seem ta be workin' too."

"They are." the Praxian confirmed. Jazz could have sworn a slight, red tinge hinted on Prowl's cheeks for half a klik.

Before Jazz could reply, he vented as a red wrecking ball bowled into the Rec. hall, laughing raciously at something or another with another mech as he filled a cube for himself. His companion left before the cube was filled, leaving the red mech alone to scan the room for another friend. Or victim. His optics fell on the darker colors of black and white in a corner, and waved merrily at Jazz before starting to push his way toward him.

"Frag." Jazz mumbled under his breath, hoping that Prowl would hear his lowered tones. "It's Sideswipe."

Prowl vented as well, thankfully having heard him. "This confrontation would have happened sooner or later."

"Looks like sooner than later." Jazz grumbled, lifting a hand as the red mech neared. "Hey, Sides! What's up?"

"Nothing." the red mech replied over his cube. "Been bored. Sunny kicked me out of our quarters again, so I thought I'd check out the Rec. and see what's going on."

"Sunny kicked ya out?" Jazz repeated, smirking. "What'd ya do now?"

"Nothing!" Sideswipe exclaimed, throwing up his servos and just barely managing to _not_ soak Prowl with his energon. "I only tried to use his paints... I painted him."

"Guess the image wasn't as lifelike as 'ed like?" the Polyhexian snorted.

"Erm...not exactly. I mean I _painted_ him." Sideswipe said slowly. "Yeah, I guess I can see why he kicked me out."

"Ya painted yer bro?" Jazz said wide opticed. "Primus, mech! Ya _do_ gotta death wish!"

"Nah, not me." Sideswipe chuckled, sipping his cube again. He went to speak again, only to freeze as his optics set on Prowl. More accuratly, the sides of Prowl's helm.

"Evening, Sideswipe." Prowl said with dip of his helm. No reason to be rude, even if the red mech's optics had grown four times their original size.

"Hole slag." Sideswipe deadpanned, optics fixated on the gleaming silver _things_ stuck to Prowl's helm. "Trying to imitate Wheeljack or something?"

Prowl frowned. "Of course not." he replied simply. There was no point in explaining just what they were to a mech who didn't care.

"They look like fraggin' disco balls!" Sideswipe laughed. "Next party we throw, you'd better come. We can have you for lighting!"

"Cool it." Jazz all but growled, stopping only as Prowl held out a hand to yield him.

"Leave it." Prowl said lowly, ignoring the laughs still coming from the red mech, and gaining a lot of attention in the process. All ready bots were leaning towards each other, talking in hushed tones, _pointing_. "I will be leaving myself."

"Ya don' gotta go, Prowler." Jazz stated, glaring at the now quieting red mech.

Prowl shook his helm, the silver aid seeming to flash in the light. "It's all right, Jazz. I...have some work to finish."

Jazz had gone to protest, only to slump as Prowl made a hasty exit. His helm tilted as Prowl just barely managed a collision with Hound, apologizing, and hurrying off again. Shaking it off, he turned towards his 'companion'.

"Hey, Sides?" he asked calmly. Deathly calm.

"Yeah?" Sideswipe eyed him warily.

"Wanna join meh in one of the trainin' room? Ah could use a good spar."

* * *

"You want me to do what now?" Ratchet lifted an optic ridge at the mech sitting on his med-berth.

Prowl refrained from shifting uncomfortable, although he did squirm just ever so slightly. "I believe the battery life of the aids is dying. I only need them changed, or adjusted."

The medic vented a hum as he took the offered pieces in his hands, lifting them up to his optic to scrutinize them. "They look fine to me."

"That can't be." Prowl blurted, stopping after the odd look sent his way over the observed aid. "I mean, they've been losing their efficiency. There must be _something_ wrong with them."

"Or something wrong with their owner." Ratchet stated, setting them aside. Prowl vented at the familiar workout of turning his helm from side to side, the doctor looking in both.

"Actually," Ratchet started, still studying the small audios. "I'm glad you're here."

"That is unlike you." Prowl replied cooly, without so much as moving his helm even the slightest either way. "You usually want bots to leave your med-bay."

Ratchet grumbled under his breath, inaudible to Prowl other then a slight rumble in the air. "What I meant was that you've saved me the trouble of calling you here myself."

Prowl gave a small nod of understanding, now that Ratchet had set aside his tool and light. "I see."

"I've been studing up on your..." Ratchet waved a hand, searching for the right word for a klik. "condition. I've found a few things that might help you out."

Prowl's interest was heightened. Anything to get his hearing back to at least adequate levels. At _least_ enough to ditch the shiny aid that brought unwanted attention. "And?"

"The first are little tubes placed in the audio." Ratchet started. "They're mainly for missshapened audios, but they're also just for younglings. I've heard that they're actually pretty painful for adults as they completely readjust the inside of the audio."

"I wouldn't mind." Prowl insisted.

"Course ya wouldn't." Ratchet muttered, waiving his hand at the cocked helm. "Another is surgery."

Prowl stopped, his interest gone. His optics narrowed into tiny slits as he shook his helm. "No."

Ratchet scoffed, rolling his optics. "The surgery would be to see if tubes would even be an option for you! How did you think we get them in? Slide it like a wire?"

"I had assumed-"

"No." Ratchet stopped him harshly. "Both are technically surgery. The tubes a simpler procedure. What I need to know is if your audios are all ready too far gone or not."

Again, Prowl stopped. _Too far gone?_ "Explain."

Ratchet vented, sliding his little stool over and plopping himself down. "Prowl, you are _still_ losing hearing. I'll get the aids to Jack and he'll kick them up a notch, but it's still only a band-aid solution. What we _need_ to do is get to the root of this problem. Surgery is the only way to tell if you're gonna go stone-cold deaf or not."

Prowl's frown deepened, his hands suddenly becoming very interesting as he peered down into them. He looked up as Ratchet cleared his throat, signalling for his attention once again.

"Don't start jumping to conclusions." he warned. "This surgery would be a solid answer. As of now, nothing is known other then you need help. Plain and simple."

"When could something like this be scheduled?" Prowl asked lowly. It wasn't really like he had a choice in this matter. He couldn't continue to function as an Autobot until a firm diagnosis was found.

"It would have to be soon." Ratchet stated. "Never know what'll happen next. Things've been awfully quiet lately."

"Something is being planned, we are all aware of that." Prowl replied cooly. He wasn't here for a briefing session, he was here to get fraggin' fixed!

"Tomorrow." Ratchet stated after a moments thought. "I know, it's short notice, but the longer we put this off, the higher the chances of something happening and this getting worse."

Prowl gave a small incline of his helm. "Understood. I assume I will have to be taken off duty?"

Ratchet gave a nod of his own. "Yeah. It'll be a simple procedure. If we see that the tubes can be used and will help, we'll put them in then. If not..."

Prowl shuttered his optics, understanding. "Let us hope, then, that there is no 'if not'."

"Agreed." Ratchet huffed. With a jerk of his neck, he pointed Prowl out with his helm. "Now, get your aft outta here."

"Yes, medic." the Praxian answered as he hurried out. It was never wise to antagonize the medic, _especially_ the one cutting you open.

* * *

Prowl swore that if Jazz's optic ridges crept up any higher, they would float above his helm like some cartoon.

"Surgery?" the mech all but screeched the word. Was it really that bad?

Prowl felt like an old mech, despite his rather young age, as he flinched and reached up to adjust the volume of the hearing aid manually. Jazz voice had set it off at an ungodly scream. Once finished, he gave a nod. "It is only a simple procedure, Jazz. It will entirely decide whether or not this is something serious."

Jazz continued to wear his scowl, his frown going as far as scrunching up his forhelm and darkening his visor. "Ah still don' like the idea of ya goin' under a knife."

"I've been under Ratchet's laser scalpel before." Prowl protested, although he could not understand why. He hated the idea as much, if not _more_ than Jazz.

"Yeah, but that was for injury." Jazz stated.

"This is similar to an injury." Prowl returned, a bit sharper than he intended but thankfully not enough to tick off Jazz. He vented, sitting back in the chair Jazz had offered him in the Polyhexian's room. "I can't continue on like this, Jazz. The aids continue to gain attention, they're practically flashing beacons that could compromise a position in the battle field. I can't keep missing orders, and I most certainly cannot continue to have orns off for medical leave."

"Ah know." Jazz rubbed his temple. He huffed out the air he had been holding in, now scorching hot. He forced a smirk onto his face, just for Prowl's sake. "Ya should probably go an get some rest 'fore tomorrow."

Prowl nodded, rising from his seat. "Agreed."

Jazz vented again as the door closed behind the pair of doorwings, rubbing his optics tiredly before rising and going to be himself. Prowl might need a hand tomorrow, and it just might as well be him.

* * *

Author's Note- I hate how short these are...Again, this is my own story. This is un-beta'd, and all the mistakes above are mine and mine alone.

Please do not think me stupid for not having a set diagnosis. The 'unknown diagnosis' above is my own, one I myself live with. A.K.A- while I don't leave a Rec. Room, I'll hide up in my own bedroom because I can't hear my own father or grandfather 90% of the time. This is REAL and not just laziness on my side. If I am ever given a firm diagnosis other than 'Take this pill and see if it works', it will be woken into this story-but only if I get one BEFORE I finish this!

On a final note, I was asked previous chapter if I had regular posts. I try and post this story every Saturday/Sunday in North America. (Taking in the international time line here) It's not going to always be regular, but that should be it barring emergencies and RL.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

"Inducing stasis." Wheeljack announced, sliding a silvery liquid into an I.V. fluid bag of energon.

"This shouldn't take too long." Ratchet promised as the drug worked its way though the patient's tubes, his optics fogging into a drugged haze. Knowing this particular patient well, he also issued a warning. "Don't even think about fighting the stasis, or I'll knock you out without it."

Prowl didn't seem to have any ideas about fighting stasis, and his optics slid closed into unconsciousness. Ratchet looked towards his assistant, and gave a single nod that the patient was indeed out.

Wheeljack didn't need Ratchet to ask him for the laser scalpel, it all ready in his hand as Ratchet held out his own for it. The armor around Prowl's helm was removed, the gray protoform revealed and easily sliced into. Wheeljack took a small, clear, plastic tube, ready to hand it over and have Ratchet take and insert it, when he stilled.

"Damn it." Ratchet cursed, the reason for Wheeljack's pausing. An audible growl left the CMO's vocalizer as he set about reclosing the incision.

"Is it-"

"Yeah." Ratchet snapped, just barely controlling his own anger. "That one's too far gone."

"He still has the other." Wheeljack stated, his own spark sinking. "He'll learn to make up for it."

Ratchet shook his helm. "We still need to see if we can even do anything for the other."

The enginer's heardfins flashed soft pink a moment, Wheeljack biting his bottom lip beneath his mask. Not a word was said as both went about mechanically, seeming to read the others mind as tools were wordlessly handed and received, and energon cleaned and vitals watched.

"Primus dammit!" Ratchet shouted, startling the younger mech enough to cause him to drop the tubing on the floor. Ratchet's laser scalpel joined it as it was tossed down in a fit or anger.

"Ratchet?" Wheeljack asked, knowing but hoping Ratchet would tell him otherwise.

"Clean up." the red and white mech ordered sharply. "Your tubes aren't gonna work here."

* * *

He could only remember waking up like this a few times, he could count all the times on one hand.

One time had been as a youngling, after a terrible crash had called for medical assistance. The second had been after a photon charge had nearly grazed his sparkchamber a tad too close for Ratchet's liking, and the medic had knocked him out just to be safe. The third time had been after the explosion, and he had woken up after being in both medically and involuntarily induced stasis.

The most recent was now, as he unshuttered his optics with the overpowering sense of 'It's not worth it! Go back to sleep!' Sleep fled from him as he started, red faceplates hovering over him as he woke.

Not the best way to great the orn. Or any part of the orn, for that matter.

"You're awake." the medic stated the obvious gruffly.

_That would be an understatement_. Prowl gave a nod. "Indeed." He immediately went to ask how the surgery went, if the tubes were in place, and if all went well, when Ratchet cut in instead.

"Do you... want anybot?" Ratchet asked as Prowl pushed himself up, the last of his grogginess leaving.

Prowl lifted an optic ridge. "Excuse me?"

He shook his helm as Ratchet quickly grabbed two little silver pieces from the near-by counter and held them out. That wasn't what he had meant. After a warning glare, and the hand thrust out again, the decision of acception was made for him.

Ratchet gave a nod of approval as Prowl snapped the pieces onto place. "Good. Now, I asked if you wanted me to call somebot before I explained things."

That _d__efinetly_ wasn't a good sign. Ratchet, showing some kind of decenct berthside manner, actually _caring_? C_oncern_ at that? Definitely not good.

At Prowl's hesitance, Ratchet continued. "I know that Jazz offered to come after your surgery. We've been...forcibly keeping him in the hall until you decided."

"He can come in." Prowl stated, uncertainty clear in his voice.

"I'll have Aid let him in." the medic said. "This should probably be done in a place a bit more...private. My office."

It wasn't a suggestion, but a very kindly put order. Prowl rose to his pedes, not unsteady in the least even after the surgery, and gave a single dip of his helm.

"As you wish." Prowl replied lowly, following the medic into Ratchet's little used office, face calm and spark pounding.

* * *

"It's about time." Jazz scolded the timid red and white bot before him, a beep signalling the unlocking of the med-bay doors.

"Jazz, I'm sorry." First Aid said quickly, helm ducked low. "Ratchet didn't want you-"

"Whatever." the Polyhexian grumbled, pushing by the medic's assistant and into the crisp, clean, Pit which was the med-bay. "Where's Prowler?"

"Ratchet's office." First Aid pointed, quickly letting his hand fall back as Jazz looked towards him.

_Office?_ That office was more for show than anything else. Sure, paperwork was filed in there from time to time, but it was usually used when one of the medics needed a nap and couldn't quite leave the med-bay yet. Or as a hideaway for Ratchet when he was beyond irritated and in his 'Next bot I see, I kill' kinda mood. Or, worse of all, when something was honestly, seriously wrong and needed the proper seclusion to be explained.

_Please, jus' let it be a nap._

* * *

As it looked, it wasn't just a nap. He was pointed to a seat by Ratchet- who was wide awake- , and shared a worried glance with Prowl.

"Wha's goin' on?" Jazz asked even before his aft had hit the seat. "Did the surgery go okay?"

"The surgery went well..." Ratchet stated slowly. his voice portraying the complete opposite. "In the sense that there were no complications."

"But?" Prowl demanded. It was his frame, Primus dammit!

"But, Wheeljack and I were unable to place the tubes." Ratchet explained, rubbing his folded digits. "Your audios...were too far gone."

"In other words?" Prowl asked lowly, hoping that Ratchet wasn't going to say what he _knew_ he was going to.

He did. "I'm sorry, Prowl." Ratchet's helm lowered to a point on his desk. "There's nothing I can do." He intook deeply. "You're going deaf."

A pregnant silence filled the room for a breem, their very ventilations stilled. Ratchet started as it was not Prowl, but Jazz, who spoke first.

Jazz slammed a closed fist on the cold metal desk, implanting a good sized dent into it. "Dammit, Ratchet! Are ya fraggin' kidden' meh?"

"Jazz." Prowl started, his voice barely heard even to himself, and not at all by Jazz.

"Jazz." Ratchet was loud enough for Jazz. "I did everything I could. This has been a long term problem that should have been fixed before he entered his adult frame."

"Why can't ya fix it now?" Jazz demanded hotly, visor both flashing and dimming at once. "Ah've seen ya fraggin' replace servos and pedes, but ya can't fraggin' replace an _audio_?"

"It's not that easy." Ratchet snapped in turn. "And you, for one, should know that!"

Jazz growled, but seemed to simmer down. Slowly, the way single drops of water at a time cooled down a hot pan. "Jus' what's that supposed ta mean?"

"It has nothing to do with the audios themselves, although that is a large part of it." Ratchet stated, no way he was going to even _think_ about start calming down. "Like your optics and visor. I could replace your optics a thousand times, but your processor would still fry the wiring to them until they shorted."

"But I have an aid." Prowl finally spoke up, his colors fainter then what was healthy. "Should that not act as Jazz's visor does his optics?"

"They are-did." Ratchet corrected himself. "But, same as I can't do anything for Jazz's optics-they'll either get worse or better on their own- I can't do anything with your audios. The aid w_ill_ help, but only until your audios stop picking up sound altogether."

Jazz refrained from saying something outright mean as Prowl's doorwings sank down, lower then his helm currently was. Ratchet vented softly, a pained look on his face. He was a _doctor_, this was his job, his forte. He was supposed to fix bots, make them better, not tell them that their only hope was gone.

"I'm sorry, Prowl." he found himself repeating again. "Really, I am."

"There was...obviously nothing you could do about it." Prowl spoke, his voice just barely above a whisper. Any higher, and it would break. "Am I to report back to duty and-"

"No." Ratchet cut him off, oddly gentle enough to not seem like an interruption. "You're off duty. At least until we figure out what to do."

Prowl gave a single nod as he rose to his pedes. Ratchet returned it as the other left, still unable to meet Prowl's optics. He only sank back in his chair with a heavy vent once the door was securely shut, covering his optics with a hand.

"Doc-"

"You should go." Ratchet stated, his voice borderline sharp but not having enough spark to really shout.

"Ta see Prowl?" Jazz asked. Primus, he hoped not. Just what was he supposed to say, to do? They'd been friends...as long as he could remember, even before they'd signed up for the Autobots.

When they'd joined, they'd each been given a manual of rules to memorize, to live by. Sadly, there wasn't a manual saying what to do in situations like this.

Thankfully, Ratchet shook his helm. "I'd give him some time to come to terms first. Don't bother him, unless he comes to you."

Jazz nodded in agreement, nut just couldn't shake the feeling that he _had_ to do something. "Is there anythin' Ah can do? Anythin' at all?"

The red and white had started to shake his helm, only to stop the next klik and mull it over. He paused, before actually nodding. "Actually...there is something."

"What is it?" Jazz asked, not exactly perking up, but starting with interest.

Ratchet shook a digit as he pushed back his desk chair. "Hang on." he drawled, snapping a digit as he tried to recall something. He strolled over to a large, gray, little-used filing cabinet, and stared at is as if it would suddenly spring open and whatever it was he was looking for would throw itself at him.

He grabbed a metal handle of the top drawer, pushing aside it's messy contents. Sure, he would keep the med-bay in tip-top shape, he had to. Bot'd die if he didn't know exactly where every single tool was located. His filing cabinet? He never really used it except to throw outdated files in.

Jazz caught a large chip as it was suddenly launched at him like a small, heat seeking missal. He lifted on optic ridge, glancing up. "Wha's this?"

"Download it." Ratchet ordered. "Prowl's gonna need it sooner than later, and if you're all ready familiar with it, it'd be that much better."

Jazz continued to eye the chip warily, but slid open a port in his wrist and thrust it in none the less. Realization hit him faster then the information inside, and a soft, sad smile flitted across his face.

As soon as Jazz had left, Ratchet opened the last drawer of the filing cabinet, pulling out a small cube of illegally strong High Grade. Primus, he needed a drink.

* * *

Prowl glanced up as he was spoken to again, suddenly realizing just where his trek through Iacon had taken him. He vented, letting his helm hang low again, only half listening to the mech on the other side of the green stained counter.

"What'll it be, mech?" the bot, alternating light and dark blue in color, asked. Prowl glanced up again, and was actually surprised to see a pair of the softest, kindest optics he had ever seen.

"I don't care." Prowl seemed to breathe his words. "Just...something strong."

The mech nodded as he reached under and pulled out a cube, instantly setting about filling it with strong liquids. It was slid to Prowl, who reached for it, and began to fiddle with the lip of the glass cube. The bartender turned away, talking and sliding drinks as a small trickle of bots seemed to pour in, some all ready smelling of alcohol as they demanded more from a new place.

Almost hesitantly, Prowl forced himself to take a sip of the cube, not exactly sure what had compelled him to come to a _bar_ in the first place. He'd heard it was a good place, in the Rec. while eavesdropping on others conversation. Some had come here after receiving a 'Dear John' from a previous suitor, others just looking for a good time, and others after a poor mission or lost comrade.

He wasn't sure why he was here, sipping a cube of something he shouldn't be, his spark clenching in on itself. He'd never been the bar-going type, but right now, he just wanted his mind taken off of everything.

A snort pulled him from his thoughts as he turned his helm towards the noise. The light blue mech behind the counter leaned against the green top, a smirk on his face and an incredulous look in his optics. "I think you've had enough of that."

"I'm sorry?" Prowl asked with tilted helm. His energon-alcahol levels were completely unaffected, only two sips of his cube taken. He wasn't even buzzed, let alone drunk.

"Look, friend." the mech continued, sliding the drink Prowl was still fiddling with away. "This stuff here ain't what you're looking for. Give me a klik, and I'll whip you up something that'll help you faster than you can shutter an optic."

"Very well." Prowl relented, not at all feeling up to argue. He lifted an optic ridge as his barely touched drink was given to some mech drunk off his aft, and oblivious that he had gotten a pre-used drink.

"Here ya go, sir." the blue mech replied after returning. A cube, similarly colored and sized to the first one, slid to Prowl. After the Praxian's hesitance, he motioned widely. "Well, go on."

Venting, Prowl lifted up the drink, and took a careful sip. He didn't say anything as he took in the flavor of non-high grade. In fact, if anything, it was _low_ grade, heated up and mixed with sweeteners and frothed to perfection.

"Good, huh?" the mech asked, pleased at Prowl's nod. "My own special blend, see."

"It's nice." Prowl complimented, perhaps saying more to the blue mech as he took another sip.

The bartender leaned on the counter, close enough to talk with Prowl but not enough to breathe down his neck. "Name's Macadam."

Prowl set the cube aside, his helm tilted once more as he tried to pick up the mech's every word in the noisy bar. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Figured it only made sense to tell you my name first before asking yours." Macadam replied with a smirk, ignoring a call from a mech across the bar.

"Oh." the doorwinger gave a nod. That made sense, he guessed. "Prowl."

Macadam hummed, casually giving the upper half of Prowl a once over. His optics paused at the silver 'earrings' decorating the mech's audios, but wisely said nothing about them. He'd seen things much worse then hearing aids before, and had learned long ago not to judge. And, if he did,to keep it to himself.

"You're not a regular." Macadam stated, motioning towards the insignia an Prowl's servos, chassis, and wings. "Got a few military bots in here from time to time, but not you. I never forget a face."

_Military bots?_ crossed Prowl's mind. _A nice way of saying both Autobots and Decepticons._ "No." he admitted after a moments thought. "While this not the first time I've been in an establishment such as this before, this is the first time I've done so willingly...or on my own."

Macadam snorted. "Establishment? Definitely not a regular." The mech sobered up after his laugh, looking as if he were as old and wise as any mech who'd never set foot in a saloon of any kind-let alone owned one- and had spent his time studying at the Great Hall of Records. As Prowl gave _him_ a brief once over in the dim light, the mech indeed looked up in his vorns. "Only thing that brings bots like you here is something big going on."

Prowl vented, slowly nodding his helm. "Indeed."

"Quickest way to start drinking." Macadam chuckled, although there was no humor in his voice. "Figured you weren't the drinking type, though,not that that's a bad thing and all. Now, you wanna tell me what happened?"

Prowl lifted an optic ridge at the bartender, fiddling with the newer drink much like he had the alcoholic beverage.

Macadam chuckled again, actually amused this time. "Bet you wouldn't believe it, but this here counter has worked as a better couch than anything I've ever seen before. And, unlike what you'd get at some psychiatrists, I don't judge a bot."

"Well..." Prowl started, his voice low and sounding rather awkward to his own audios. Who went to a bar and ended up with warmed energon and a talking to? "I-I received some rather poor information from...from a medic."

"You ain't dying or nothing, are you?" Macadam asked with widened optics.

"No." Prowl answered quickly, emphasized with a shake of his helm. "Nothing _that_ serious."

The blue mech vented in relief. "Good, cuz if that were the case, I'd switch your drink back out to what it was before."

Prowl couldn't help the small snort that left his olfactory, and was even more surprised to find himself talking more. "No, I'm not dying...but perhaps that would have been a better diagnosis."

Macadam's optics furrowed into reprimendation, but he kept his mouth shut.

"This...predicament will change _e__verything_." Prowl said, his voice dropping even lower, and he suddenly found he couldn't look into the kind, light blue optics any longer. He looked down at a large chip in the counter, intent on studying it. "I'll have to relearn how to simply function throughout the orn. I have no idea how this will affect my job." he paused, his ducked helm picking up the top of the red insignia on his chassis. "My rank. If I'll even be able to work with the Autobots anymore."

His helm lifted as he felt a hand drape over his own, the top one feeling hard with labor and warped with age, "You look like a smart bot to me." Macadam stated. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Prowl didn't even try to respond, didn't know how. He forced a harsh vent from his shafts, and nodded. "Thank you."

Macadam withdrew, a smile on his face and his optics twinkling brighter than the dim light ever could. "Don't mention it. Just stay sober, and drive safe anyways."

"I...don't think I'll be leaving, just yet." Prowl admitted lowly. "If that's all right. I have a lot on my processor I still need to sort."

Macadam nodded in understanding. "Hey, I only kick bots out for three things. I'm closed, they've had more than enough, or they started a fight. I doubt you'll cause any kind of mischief, you're definitely sober, and I don't close 'til late. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you." Prowl repeated, removing himself from the bar stool to seek out some place of solitude. Despite the fact that the bar was rather crowded and noisy, no one knew him here. He was as alone as he would be in his quarters, minus the conversation he had just had with the bartender.

"Hey." Macadam repeated a third time, thankful when the bot finally turned back to him. He pushed the still steamy drink forward. "You forgot this."

After Prowl had come back to retrieve his drink, Macadam resolved to keep his optic on the young bot. He nearly forgot his resolution the next klik as a banging on the counter drew his attention away. "All right, all right, I'm coming!"

* * *

Transforming in front of the all too familiar oil house, Jazz couldn't help but think this had to be one of the oddest missions he had ever been sent on. Sure, he'd been called down to a few bars now and again when 'Bots had been getting rowdy. Heck, he'd _been_ the bots getting called out on a time or two.

But never for Prowl. The mech was usually used to drag bots home and punish them, not the one being called back home.

It was late, or early, whichever was more accurate he wasn't sure. The sun was beginning to rise, bars closing up for the morning, and better shops opening up in their place. He pushed open the saloon-like swinging doors, stepping into the nearly empty bar.

"Hey, Mac." Jazz greeted the familiar face with a warm smile.

"Jazz." Macadam returned just as pleasantly. He set aside his white cleaning cloth and glass cube, motioning towards a corner. "He's over there."

"He ain't drunk, is 'e?" Jazz asked in a low voice, kicking himself the next klik. Who the frag went all the way to Mac's, one of the best oil houses in Iacon if not all of Cybertron, and didn't lose his sobriety?

"Nope." Macadam replied, smirking at the deadpanned look of the Polyhexian. "As sober as he was when he walked in here."

"Thanks." Jazz said before following the pointed digit to a quiet corner, the frame of the Praixan practically curled in on himself as he cradled his helm, not a single fastener or strut in his frame moving.

"Prowl?" Jazz asked lowly, spark sinking as the mech didn't look up. He moved slowly, trying not to startle him, but Prowl still managed to jump as a hand was lain on his back. "Easy, mech. Jus' meh."

"What are you doing here?" Prowl asked, vainly trying to hid how miserable his voice sounded.

"Comin' ta get you." Jazz stated. "It's late...or early, dependin' on how ya look at the sun."

Prowl's optics widened as he checked his internal chronometer. He rose to his pedes, the single drink he had been given only half drained. "I didn't mean to remain out so long. I must have lost track of the time and-"

"It's all righ'." Jazz insisted, guiding the mech out with a single hand. "Ratch has ya off duty anyways."

Jazz gave a nod to the mech behind the counter as he pushed his friend out, silently promising to come by himself when he had the time.

"Off duty?" Prowl protested as he collapsed into his alt. form. "I am not intoxicated, nor am I injured. I should be able to perform my tasks-"

"Optimus enforced it as well." Jazz continued, transforming. "He wants ta figure out what ta do later on."

Prowl vented, letting the feeling of the open road engulf him as he cruised along, half ignoring Jazz and half not caring what he had to say. He didn't speed as he would have liked to, instead controlling his speed as he tried to control his emotions.

All in all, he came to a single assesment- It just wasn't fair!

* * *

He thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't tired, too used to pulling all-nighters than he should. The single night 'out in the town' hadn't proven to be restful in the least, but it hadn't exhausted him that much more than a bottomless stack of reports would have.

Prowl quickly pulled his mind away from his office, where he would much rather be, and focused on the taller mech seated on the other side of the desk. The silence had gone on for much too long, and was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Optimus at least cleared his throat, venting in, as he finished what he had to say in his helm. He could have sworn he had had the entire speech prepared long before he had ever summoned Prowl to his office. The moment the Praxian had entered, his frame the same as it had alway was with its complete control and stoicness, he firmly added the last bits to it. But the klik their optics had met, Prowl's light blue ones looking far more depressed then he had ever thought for a mech of his type, it had completely fled his helm.

"Ratchet has briefed me on what has been- and is- happening." Optimus started. "While it has come as a shock to me, it must be even more so of a blow to you."

"I will manage." Prowl replied calmly, his optics all but screaming the opposite. "I have been told from a young age that this is a possibility, and should have been more prepared for it."

Optimus gave a gentle shake of his helm. "Nothing can prepare one for something like this. You have my apologies and support."

"Thank you." Prowl seemed to give a breath of relief. "But I do not need either."

"They are there, nonetheless." Optimus stated. "That aside, we must figure out just what we are to do now that this has become a set and most serious diagnosis."

"The loss of my audios should not interfere with my desk work." Prowl almost-_almost_- snapped.

Optimus didn't rebuke him, or even seem to acknowledge the sharp tone. "You know as well as I that your rank involves more than desk work."

Prowl's doorwings lowered in place of his helm, although it was still miniscule. "You wish to demote me?"

"Far from it." Optimus stated firmly. "You have earned your rank as my second, and I would hate to see you ever replaced. But you are more than a second, Prowl. You are the Head Taction. How do you propose you continue that if you cannot hear a call from across a hall in mid-battle?"

Optimus hid a flinch as he asked, and took in a breath as Prowl lowered his helm. It was too real a scenario. Sometimes a tactician would remain at base, using live feed to dictate the next action in the battle. Words were thrown about like photon charges, shouting to one another over another. Other times, a tactician would be sent to the field for on-sight statistics, and the noise would only increase. Noise wouldn't bother Prowl once his audios shorted out for good, but if he couldn't hear a command shouted to him from a mech with his own monitor full of info and unable to come over to him, what would happen then?

"Logic dictates I be demoted to a level more suited to what I can do." Prowl at last murmured up, lifting his helm and looking even more hurt then before.

"Does that logic also include that losing you in tactics would be an even bigger blow to the Autobots than this diagnosis is to you?" Optimus asked, not at all cruelly, but honestly questioning every point. "The others either have only a logic computer or a battle simulator, or even neither at all, but you are the only one with both. It gives us an edge over the Decepticons, and without it, it could mean havoc and total destruction for many places."

Prowl gave a single nod. "I did, sir. But if I cannot _hear_ a command directly in front of me, then how can I give or receive information from another?"

Optimus gave a nod of his helm. "Exactly my point. I discussed my concern with Ratchet, and he came up with a solution that just might work."

"Sir?"

A desk drawer was pulled out, and a bright yellow chip was lain on it's top. Prowl glanced at it warily, but picked it up as it was slid towards him. Slowly, he slid it into his wrist. Information flooded his processor, and his optics widened at the contents.

The chip was ripped from his servo and clattered to the ground, the upload terminated. Prowl shook his helm, drawing in a calming breath before he lost his cool in front of his Commanding Officer. "No."

"I understand that you may not wish for-"

"_No_." Prowl repeated, cutting of Optimus and flinching. "I mean, forgive me, sir, but there _must_ be another way."

"If you can find another way that does not involve your demotion that will work as or more efficiently then this, you are free to tell me." Optimus ordered, his voice pushing sharp in gentle reprimendation. As Prowl hung his helm after trying, he continued. "You do not need to download it just yet, but this _will_ be established once the time comes."

"Yes, sir." Prowl mumbled his optics on the fallen data-chip. He stooped down to retrieve it, holding it out to his CO, who in turn shook his helm.

"Why don't you hang onto that?" Optimus suggested. Prowl gave a single nod, which Optimus returned. "Dismissed."

Prowl fully rose from his seat, taking leave without another word. Optimus rubbed at his optics tiredly with one hand. If this had been any other time, if the threats from Megatron had not been increasing by the klik, if ever city on Cybertron was not slowly taking sides, he would have had no choice but to demote or fully release Prowl from duty. A handicap of any kind was a serious liability, but, for once, the pros outweighed the cons in this predicament.

As long as his plan worked, they wouldn't have any reason to worry. Or, actually,_he _wouldn't have _much_ of a reason to worry.

* * *

Author's Note- Not much to say on this chapter, or than to disclaim any characters I don't own and the rights to Transformers. If I did, Ironhide wouldn't have dies in DotM and there would be a Prowl in Bay-Verse.

Macadam, as far as I know, IS a real character. He owns 'Macadams Oil House' in a certain comic book-verse that I've never read, but researched on TFwiki. Besides that one Constructicon on TFA that had robo-stubble and Alpha Trion and perhaps Sensei Yokitron, he is the only robot to have facial 'hair', or a metallic mustache which I seem to have left out... Oh, well.

Please read and review, or give the review to a different writer! (Or both...that'd work too.)

Un-betaed, mistakes are my own. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

Epsilon, Towers, and of course, Iacon. Three cities out of the hundreds scattered about the planet, siding with the Autobots. Iacon had always been Autobot ground, housing the largest and main military base on the planet for those who bore a red insignia, but now it was official. There were signed papers involved now. There were many little cities, towns and villages that were 'Neutral', but slowly siding with the Autobots.

Too bad those wins were next to nothing compared to city of Kaon- the largest city known for its gladiatorial pits, a getaway for criminals of all kinds, and the drug and alcohol and illegal contraband capital of the planet.

Now the Decepticons had their own military standpoint, right in the middle of Kaon. Voc was some sort of back-up base or 'reformation center' for Decepticons and those being trained for the Decepticon forces.

Optimus Prime rubbed his temple, comparing notes from different cities and towns. Many stated their wish to remain neutral and out of the war. _Don't they see that won't be an option soon enough? _Among them were cities like the Crystal City and Alta Trius. He could only cross his digits and hope for the best with them.

Others were indecisive, leaning towards the Autobots but hesitant to join a blood-feud. Among them were Praxus and Polyhex, the latter of the two near deciding to sign over to the Autobots.

The final group tore his spark in two- the Neutral colonies that wanted nothing to do with Autobots, most likely already siding with the Decepticons. Among them was Straxus and the all ready gone Kaon and Voc.

There was no point in even trying to debate or change the minds and sparks of those in the final group, the bots and leaders there too far gone and blinded by the lust of monarchy and dictatorship to see what harm they were doing. Optimus tossed the pads containing contact with those places right in the trash, marking them off the list of potential supporters.

But it didn't stop there. There wasn't just the matter of _gaining_ supporters, but also the matter of keeping those already sided and making sure the bases they had scattered about had what they needed to fight.

The pads were endless. Medical supplies were always short but highly in demand. Armor was next in line, followed if not equal to fuel. Weapons were next if not more important, and supplies needed to maintain those weapons were needed.

When, and _if_, he ever reached the bottom of the Supplies and Inventory pile, he still needed to make time for the orn-to-orn stuff. Injuries, casualties, fatalities. Letters sent to the families of the who gave their lives, reviews of injuries given and taken, and reports of ruckus started by restless bots shoved in cramped quarters and pumped full of adrenaline.

Unable to look at another word, Optimus had to set aside the what must have been his hundredth data-pad that orn, and pinched the slit between his optics. There was just too much to do and so little time. Even if the war was miraculously ended in the next five kliks, there was no possible way he would ever finish all this _paperwork_ before he reached his hundredth millenium!

So...there was no time to take a break now. He needed the stylus and the pad he set aside; he needed to finish his work. Moving the discarded pad back to its original spot, something caught his attention out of the corner of his optic.

A chip, larger than a pain chip but small enough to easily slide into the wrist- an information card. It synched with the systems, giving bursts of data only after the last had been absorbed and integrated into the processor. It was similar, if not exact, to the one he had given Prowl, and one of the many Ratchet had been giving out to a select few.

Ratchet wasn't being skimpy with them, giving out less than ten to those in head division and all the medics on base. They only had that amount altogether, and each one was just as precious if not more so than a cube of energon.

Maybe that pad could wait a klik more as he slid open his wrist and pushed the lemon yellow card with the silver lining into a slot. Instantly, an access screen popped into his HUD, and he selected it.

There wasn't a rush of information or a nauseating onslaught of colors and lights as the data hit him. It was slow, gradual, like a drop of water forming and slowly falling to the ground. There wasn't a lot of data to start with, just a few basics. As soon as his systems felt he was ready for the next burst, it would send it. He probably wouldn't even notice until he used it.

No matter how it came or when, it would help, and that was all that would matter.

* * *

It should have been slow and gradual, but it wasn't. It didn't feel like it was, anyways. Perhaps it had been, and only now did he notice it since he had missed the first part of his friend's...problem.

Jazz chuckled to himself, shaking his helm at his own reluctance to accept the 'problem'. He tried not to see, covering things up for himself and others so that they wouldn't see it either, or only saw enough to convince themselves otherwise. That was what he did in Special Ops, he hid things and hid them well.

It had been easy, at first, to step up during a meeting when Prowl looked towards a bot who had spoken with a horribly blank face and apologetic optics. He would duck his helm with an apology and look back up and ask for the last statement to be repeated. More often than not, they did.

It had been Jazz who had put a stop to that. The moment Prowl's optics became lost, a haze settling in as he focused all his power on trying to catch the words, he would lean over and tell him. If an order was given to the doorwinger he didn't quite catch, it was Jazz who repeated it behind the CO's back.

Maybe he had made Prowl dependant on him, but only when he was around. No longer did the mech look lost and confused if he misheard something, but instead turned towards Jazz for clarification. If Jazz wasn't there, he sucked it up and asked himself.

Those quartex, groons even, were fine. Nothing more than a covert mission or five took place, and nothing more than metric-slag-tons of paperwork to do. It was easy to ignore the few slip ups and misquotes Prowl was taking in, and fix them himself.

But then the aid fiddling had started. Prowl would flick the devices in his audio, so subtly no one really caught him, and turn them up from time to time if there was too much noise to catch a specific thing or adjust them when he was alone. Soon, much too soon, five groons too soon, both audios and aids were turned up to their highest levels.

And Jazz couldn't do anything about that.

* * *

"Please?"

It was hard to ignore that pleading optic band and pathetic tone of voice that mimicked a kicked cyber-puppy in more ways than one. It was hard to _most_ bots, but most bots weren't Prowl.

"I cannot." Prowl repeated for what felt like the thousandth time that quartex. "I have much to do, and with the joining of Polyhex, there is even more reports to take in as a new base built and managed."

"But tha's the whole point!" Jazz exclaimed, skillfully stealing away the stylus from Prowl's hand before the mech could even realize what had happened. "The whole point of the get-together is to celebrate it."

"Get-together?" Prowl lifted an optic ridge incredulously as he calmly slid open a drawer and took out a second stylus.

Jazz rolled his optics. "Party, then. Can't ya do all this later? It's not like Polyhex's gonna resign just cuz a few data-pads were a joor or two late."

_Of course not_. Prowl refrained from rolling his optics, or freezing up, at how illogical such an action would be. "Nonetheless, I still need-"

"Jus' one cube?" Jazz interjected, visor widening to compensate for his optics. "Ya don' even have ta stay longer than tha'."

Taking a moment to weigh the situation, Prowl fell silent. While he _was_ extraordinarily busy with the joining of the new city and a _ridiculous_ amount of paperwork with the new recruits and construction of a new base, nothing was more taxing and nerve-killing than one particular Polyhexian. If he were to leave his desk and drink a cube of allowed high grade, just for the special occasion, it most likely wouldn't take longer than ten or fifteen breems-compared to the joors of nagging and orns of pouting Jazz would give him for missing such an event.

"You will leave me be to work if I go for one cube, and one cube _only_?" Prowl clarified, optics narrowing in on the mech before him.

"Scouts honor." Jazz swiped his spark and lifted a hand with a crooked grin.

Prowl did roll his optics. "You are no scout."

* * *

He could _feel_ the music pulsing through him, tingling his doorwings. His overtaxed audios hammered against their receptors, aching at the amount of noise and laughter and music sounding throughout the overcrowded room.

He wanted badly to turn down his audios and aids, if only for the vibrating pulsing in his audios to stop. It wasn't the noise that hurt him, but the level and intensity that shook his broken receptors to the core.

He pasted on a neutral expression, a grin or smile far out of the option, as Jazz beamed and waved him over towards the energon dispensers filled with high grade for the occasion- conveniently located dangerously close to the music speakers. Did party-goers want to be in the same predicament as he was in?

He had barely reached his friend before a cube of sparking blue was pressed into his hands, and he strained his audios to their very limits and beyond to catch the drowned out, muffled sounds.

"Ah got it for ya awhile ago." Jazz beamed, very pleased with himself.

"Thank you." Prowl replied, looking into the cube and oblivious to the odd look Jazz gave him at his lowered tone.

A humdrum conversation was struck up between the two of them, the conversation almost as mundane and domestic as 'Some whether' without the awkward pauses in-between.

Meanwhile across the hall and less than a servos-reach away from the 'DJ station'- a sad little turntable dug up out of somebots possessions and a little worse for wear- a certain red hellion decided that the crowded hall was a perfect place for mischief.

His blue optics burned through the crowd, looking for some poor soul or another to suffer his wrath of boredom and overactive imagination. A slight twitch of black and white doorwings caught his attention, and a slag-eating grin stretched across his faceplates.

_Victim in sight._

_Action- Unknown. Wait, actually..._

Turning around, his optics fell on the unmanned turntables, playing some upbeat but outdated tunes for the listeners and part-tenders. The volume, set at a moderate ten for your listening pleasure, was loud enough for those outgoing enough to want to dance to do so, but toned down enough for those just there for the conversation to indulge themselves.

_We'll see how long_ that_ lasts._ The particular red hellion mused to himself.

It only took a flick of the switch, and the 'nice' music morphed into a monster, created by the mad doctor of doom himself. He slipped from the room in silence, leaving none in his wake.

A distorted scream filled the room as the speakers blasted the music on a speed much too loud and high for even the strong yet delicate audios of a normal transformer. The sounds blended into one at the max level the machine would spurt, bursting its own speakers with a pop and a gun-like bang, hissing with smoke as those who had ducked down to cover their audios slowly straightened up.

"What the frag?" Jazz was the first to speak, his audios ringing with the past noise. He was sure he wsn't the only way, the unattached looks from the other mirroring how he felt.

The room felt too quiet now, and the pain always bugging his audios had increased a thousandfold. He felt a hand on his servos, glancing up to see that Jazz had uncovered his audios and was now glancing at him with worry.

"Are ya okay?" Jazz asked, hating the way Prowl looked at him blankly, spark clenching in fear as raising his voice didn't work.

Shaking his helm, Prowl stood from his half-crouch he had yet to regain from, and slid his hands from his audios. "Jazz, I can't-"

Jazz's visor had widened, turning his thoughts from his complete deafness and lack of being able to even hear himself. Jazz reached for the side of his face, and he instinctual leaned back. The hand followed nonetheless, and he was suddenly aware of more than pain in the sides of his helm. An odd tickling sensation seemed to flood them, a liquid feeling drowning out his audios.

He touched himself, and started at the sight of blood on his digit-tips. Jazz's hand returned much the same, the bright blue standing out better on his hands.

"Slag." Jazz hissed as he dove into his subspace and whipped out a polishing rag. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it for the moment. Instead, he briefly motioned to the rag before doing the same to Prowl's face. He received a nod, and pressed the rag over the audio- aid and all.

Taking one of Prowl's hands, he guided it to the injury, and had him hold the rag himself. A second rag was soon pressed to the other bleeding audio.

"We should let Ratch get a look at ya." Jazz thought aloud, flinching at the hurt, seeking, yet still blank look sketched over Prowl's face. _Is this what it's gonna be like when 'e really is deaf?_

A second thought, more terrifying than the first, penetrated him. _What if this is it?_

Quickly shaking them away to deal with the matter at hand, he switched to internal text comms via HUD as speaking internally would still go unheard.

'_We're gonna go have Ratch take a look at ya, all righ'?'_ Jazz sent through, knowing exactly when Prowl got it as the mech gave a nod in return, still unanswering.

Hefting Prowl to his pedes, and keeping one hand over one audio as Prowl did the same with the other, he crossed his digits and held his vents. _This can't be it._

* * *

It wasn't. Thank Primus, it wasn't. The audio receivers had merely blown out, and were an easy fix. Sadly, fixing them neither fixed the problem nor made hearing any easier. In fact, Prowl was loath to admit it, the blown auditory receptors had increased and sped up the hearing loss process.

He would never admit this when confronted, but Prowl had felt completely and totally justified as he dished out Sideswipe's punishment. Sideswipe would be busy, and up to his olfactories in grease, for the next two quartex.

Of course, that hadn't compensated for any of the loss Prowl was going through, and Jazz suffered besides him as the next phase was entered. The helm tilt phase.

Just like the blank looks and apologetic optics and aid flicks, the helm tilt had started in ways so subtle they were easy to hide and mask. An order, a pause, a beat, a blink, and Prowl turned his helm slightly to the side.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

It continued on as such. Little things, little turns of the helm. It continued on even as Tyger Pax joined the Autobots and Axium joined the cons.

It wasn't until Jazz looked up from laughing at something or another, preparing himself to repeat it slowly and loudly for the mech beside him when he started. Instead of being met with a pair of apologetic optics or even a blank look, he was met with a silver bauble connected to the black and white helm as Prowl completely turned his helm away without a qualm, and asked for a repeat.

Jazz had given it.

* * *

As he climbed into berth that night, nightmares plagued his awake mind. Nightmares of waking up, and finding Prowl was deaf as a post. Recharge was evading him, easily, taking off like a deamon out of the Pit.

Jazz found himself blinking up at the ceiling, twining his fingers nervously in the blankets, and venting heavily. Forcing himself up, he stole his way across the quiet room and towards a small desk, sliding open its little used drawer and taking out one of the many devices in it. A small, yellow chip just larger than a pain chip. He'd used it once, just to see what was on it, but he had never been able to fully upload it, hoping to wait out the storm.

Instead, he slid it into his wrist without a second thought, and flopped back onto the berth with a heavy sigh. He shuttered his optics, offlining his visor in the process.

The information easily merged with his processor, and he forced it along once it had stopped. The sooner he knew this, the better. At least, that was what his gut was telling him. That, and it was going to be needed terribly soon.

* * *

_Of all the stag-tarded, utterly stupid, completely ludicrous things to do_-

"I have the power to take away your rank." Ratchet all but hissed, digits pinched around a tiny, yellow chip.

Lifting an optic ridge, the 'slag-tard' replied just as sharply. "Not without sound reason, you do not."

"How about biased stupidity?" Ratchet tried out, optics ablaze and more frightening than his voice ever could be. "Self-inflicted retardation?"

Prowl chose not to answer, instead vouching to glare lasers at the Pit-spawned chip Ratchet was trying to corrupt his systems with. He didn't _need_ it- at least... not yet.

Ratchet vented, as if reading the reluctant Praxian's thoughts "It's gonna happen sooner than later, and at this rate-"

"Not yet." Prowl stopped him, optics lowered to the floor and helm nearly as low as his wings. "I am still able to function within normal parameters. Can this not wait until...later?"

"I wish it could." Ratchet replied, controlling himself just enough to not crush that little chip into dust. "But aren't you the one always keen on saving time and doing the most _logical_ thing? Where's the logic in putting _this_ off."

There was none, and Prowl was loath to admit that single, solitary fact. He'd followed a strict code of logic since he was young, doing all that was asked of him to the best of his abilities and with the best attitude he could. Perhaps a reason following orders came so naturally to him.

Couldn't he, just this one time, screw logic and do what _he_ wanted to do instead of following orders? He wasn't blinded by them, and he always did his best. Wasn't he _entitled_ to self-indulgence? He didn't want to party, he didn't want a medal, and he most certainly did not want recognition for everything good he'd ever done.

He just wanted to be left alone and put aside this _one_ thing until it could no longer be put aside.

Ratchet vented again, more of a self-loathing growl as he tossed the offending chip onto the counter and pointed towards the med-bay doors. "Get out of here."

"You are not going to-"

"I said git!" Ratchet shouted, showing that if Prowl gave him time to second guess himself, he was.

Ratchet didn't have to tell him a third time. He was out the door and free from redundant information, for the moment. And that moment wouldn't last too long.

* * *

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. _

He could literally hear the time counting done. Or, perhaps it was figuratively. He couldn't fragging _hear_ anything. Mutters and mumbles and murmurs from everyone and everything.

Of course, it had taken a few more quartex to reach this point. It didn't just strike him out of nowhere. It wasn't until he was hunched over a machine, reading the print from Telatraan-1 of local news and small Decepticon raids that were nothing more than sorry mobs, did it finally hit him.

As oblivious as a sparkling, he continued to read the subtitles, unaware of the red and blue behind him.

"Prowl." Optimus called, face buried in a last-breem briefing pad. "Head to Security and tell them to increase viewings in quadrants A7 through C4. There have been reports of..."

Glancing up, he was intensely surprised to find a pair of doorwings still facing him, the mech leaning over the small viewing screen. He took a vent, lifting his voice no higher than he normally did when Prowl didn't hear him.

"Prowl." Optimus called, not bothering to repeat himself until he had the mech's full attention. Still, not even a flick of the doorwings. Venting softly to himself- not that Prowl would have heard it- he reached out a hand.

Prowl started clear out of his armor as he spun around at full attention, freezing as his optics met his Commanding Officer's. He hung his helm at the message that popped up in his HUD.

_'Perhaps it is time for you to see Ratchet again_.'

The Prime offered to accompany him, knowing good and well what the final diagnosis would be. And, unsurprisingly, Prowl declined.

* * *

_Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock._

Ratchet was...kind as he motioned Prowl towards a medical berth. The aids were removed, and the audios checked for signs of any type of sensor feed. The finds were disheartening.

He didn't say a word, not needing to, as he set aside his tool. Opening a drawer, he slid out that one thing Prowl had been fighting from the very beginning, and turned back.

"You won't be needing those anymore." Ratchet said, slowly, enough for Prowl to read his lips and stop reaching for the audio aids. "Take this."

Prowl, as adamant as before, started to shake his helm. Only to freeze as the cold chip was pressed into his palm. "Ratchet-"

'_ Just take it with you.'_ Ratchet sent via HUD messaging. '_You'll know when to use it.'_

Clenching his fist around if, Prowl rose without a word towards the medic. For all his stoicism, his emotionless self, he was _a__ngry_. If not at the medic, Primus. If not Primus, his creators for not forcing the doctors to do something, _anything_. If not his creators, the doctors for being so stubborn and foolish with their readings that they had simply dismissed him to move on to the next patient. But, most of all, he found that he was angry with one bot in particular.

Himself.

For not preparing himself up to this point, and now even more lost than he had planned on. He stepped out of the med-bay, full of self-loath, and nearly collided with the one bot he could never hate no matter how hard he tried.

'_You okay?_' Jazz texted via HUD like all the rest, obviously having been alerted of the _situation_.

"I'm fine." Prowl replied, unable to hear how cracked yet monotonous his own voice was. A shudder traveled up his spinal struts at how much he _couldn't_ hear himself. He could feel it, the vibrations coming from his own mouth, but nothing but a distant, drowned out, muffled murmur. His own voice sounded a million miles away.

Hesitance couldn't be transmitted through a written message, but Prowl saw it nonetheless in Jazz's optics as he 'spoke' again. _'Want me to sit with you?'_

Prowl didn't need to hear himself as he went about studying his pedes and the dusty floor. "Yes."

* * *

_Tick tock tick...tick. Tock...tock...tick. Tick..._

He sat on the edge of his berth, Jazz in the desk's chair. A game board balanced precariously between them, the pieces on it acting more as a leveling agent than a game. Neither spoke, with words or messages, but focused entirely on the game. Jazz spared the abandoned yellow chip- similar to the one in his own wrist- a glance every now and then.

Carefully, Jazz lifted a white game piece, and froze as the board began to teeter. It wasn't the best of tables, but half on the arm of the chair and half on the berth was the best the could get. Of course, the desk _could_ have been used, but there was only one chair. One bot would have been left standing throughout the entirely long game of chess.

Or maybe, not so terribly long. The moment Jazz had set his piece- a knight only one move away from capturing Prowl's king, the poor mech unable to focus as well as he usually did- the board decided that the weight on one side was too much, and toppled to the floor with an audio-splitting clatter and crash as a pawn or two shattered their rounded tops.

Jazz had started at the noise, Prowl unflinching as he merely glanced at the mess on the floor.

"Primus." Jazz exclaimed, leaping to his pedes the moment the crash had ceased. "Ah'm sorry mech, Ah didn't know the board was _tha'_ close ta-"

A slight hitch, barely audible even to himself, stopped his apologetic ramble. A single trail of coolant had worked its way down Prowl's cheek, and left a light blue stain in its path. Doorwings vibrated with barely restrained emotions, and chassis choked with sobs he held back.

"Ah-Ah can replace..." Jazz trailed off, slowly realizing it wasn't the fact that Prowl's board had been broken that upset him, but the fact that he hadn't heard it break. _Ah'm such an idiot._

Without a moments hesitation, he was wrapped around his friend, curling his servos awkwardly around the cumbersome panels and clutching Prowl close to his chassis.

Surprisingly enough, Prowl didn't pull away. "Jazz?"

He tried not to flinch at the tone, not the emotionless tone it was normally but a monotonous blend of pitches. Jazz hummed in reply, knowing the Praxian would pick up on the vibrations.

"I...I want to hear you." the mech struggled, both against emotions and just getting the words out. "Just one more time."

Swiping away the tears he didn't even bother to hide, Jazz nodded behind him. "Okay, Prowl. All righ'."

"Jazz?"

"Ah said okay." Jazz lifted his voice, near shouting, but with the soundproofed walls, he was the only one to hear it.

"Please, Jazz?" Prowl was pleading now. _Pleading_.

This time, Jazz didn't answer. Instead, wrapping his servos tight around the mech as realization sunk in, and the bot's intakes began to pick up.

He wanted to soothe him, shush him and tell him everything would be okay, but it wasn't. It wasn't okay and all right. It shouldn't be like this, _ever_. It just was not _fair_!

Just holding him seemed to work, hyperventilation easing down into chokes and painfully silent sobs. Slowly, Jazz released the mech who, for once, wanted nothing more than to be held. His visor hidden optics met confused, watery, scared-no- _terrified_ ones, and he forced himself to break contact. Helm held low, he reached over towards the berthside table, and picked up the loathed, dreaded chip.

Prowl didn't flinch when his hand was taken, wrist flicked open with a single, gentle motion. The chip was slid into place, and Prowl's optics gave a brief flash as the first wave of information hit him.

Only then did Jazz allow himself to curl back around the mech, holding him until he had sobbed himself to sleep.

_tick...tick..._

The clock had run out.

* * *

Author's Note- I wanted to address a review I got, you know who you are :)

There will be NO PxJ, sorry to disappoint. My first Prowl and Jazz non-slash. I know the ending in this is kinda 'heated', you might say, but get your minds out of the gutters! Think of it as what you would do with a really close brother/sister who just went through this. Or, as in this case, a best friend.

And, I know Prowl was pretty OOC, but I don't see it like that. HE JUST LOST HIS FRAGGING HEARING! Give him a break! And, it's just Jazz seeing him. Not like he broke down in front of the entire Autobot forces.

And, I'm not sure if A/N's can be used for venting, but I am. I am DONE with this sh*t. I've been to too many doctors to be turned away and told I'm 'just fine, try someone else'. I can't hear my father- the one man who's gone too much and I actually WANT to spend time with, my grandfather-the guy who's constant barrage of jokes fly by my and he looks hurt when I don't laugh and ask for him to repeat. And I'm just frickin' done with asking people to repeat 5-7 times!

Am I the only one who feels like that, or am I just insane? Well...at least Prowl has people who help him.

*takes breath* Sorry 'bout that. *end stupid rant*


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

A/N- All sign language will be marked with **brackets** [].

* * *

Prowl didn't so much as flinch as his helm was gently turned. Primus slaggit, he wasn't a porcelain vase from millennia ago. Despite his thoughts, he didn't utter a single word or make a sound as he was poked and prodded for any sort of audio vibration pick-up.

Especially since Optimus Prime stood just steps away for the final verdict, as quiet and stoic as Prowl. His processor whirred just as much as the SIC's, trying to figure out just _what_ they were supposed to do now that Prowl was-

Ratchet leaned back, setting his invasive tool aside and shutting off the tiny pen-light. His lips moved unintelligibly as he spoke to the Prime, but his demeanor was more than enough for Prowl.

As Ratchet turned towards him, Prowl straightened and readied himself for the HUD message that would tell him what he already knew. But it never came. Instead, the doctor began to move his _hands_ and twist his digits in ways that made Prowl want to slap him. As if his predicament wasn't degrading enough, Ratchet had to make sure he was thoroughly humiliated!

It went on for a breem or two, Ratchet using the sign language until it became obvious Prowl wasn't understanding. Chassis heaving in an unheard vent, Prowl felt his HUD click.

'_Are you just being stupid?'_ it read, and Prowl was perhaps a little thankful he only had to deal with the heated glare instead of a fiery tongue-lashing. _'I know you have the chip, so what gives?'_

Immediately, Prowl set about to reply. He was jarred from his quick text as Ratchet suddenly grabbed him, sweeping a beam over his frame. Or, more accurately, his _helm._ He was released just as roughly, Ratchet's mouth moving as fast as his arms as he ranted and raved without the use of sign.

"Ratchet?" Optimus questioned, reaction to the outburst well hidden by vorns of training and a Primus-blessed face mask.

"Stupid slagger!" Ratchet shouted for the fifth time, earning only a flinch from the doorwings as his hand struck a black shoulder. No more porcelain doll treatment, that was for certain. "You've been _blocking_ the information, haven't you?"

Intakes panting with rage, the internal fire began to sputter and pop as it was doused in a cold splash or reality. He switched to HUD messaging, repeating exactly what he had just shouted, word for word.

Prowl admitted, with great hesitance, with a nod.

'_ And just why did you fragging think that was a good idea?_' Ratchet demanded in what could only be called a written growl. '_You know as well as I that this has been put off long enough._'

Just as stubborn as the medic, Prowl's reply only fed that internal inferno inside the boxy red chassis. '_I can teach myself to read lips.'_

Ratchet scrubbed his face with both hands, muttering and moaning to Primus about slag-tarded idiots who didn't know what was good for them. Optimus, meanwhile, only stood sentry with a lifted optic ridge.

'_Even with a chip on that, you'd still only get about 30% of what you'd need to know.' _Ratchet sent under scrutiny of a cold glare. '_And not only do I _not_ have a chip on that, you really think you'd be able to keep any sort of rank going off of next to nothing?'_

He received no reply as Prowl found his pedes rather interesting, lowering his optics. Venting slowly, Ratchet placed a hand on the shoulder once again, this time more gently then the first.

'_Prowl, you're the one with all those fancy computers and logic centers. In that core of yours, is it really _logical_ to procrastinate this any further?' _Ratchet pressed, as much as a read message could.

Again, no answer. Venting, Ratchet slid out a medical uplink point from his wrist, and motioned for Prowl's own. If the mech wouldn't do this the easy way- himself- he'd get it done the hard way.

'_What are you doing?'_ Prowl questioned through his HUD as he felt Ratchet slip through the uplink and begin messing around with his processor.

_'The only thing to get the point through your thick-aft helm'_ Ratchet retorted. _'Prowl, you are hereby released from duty until you upload the entirety of that chip into your processor. During that time, your HUD messaging center will be medically blocked.'_

_'Barring emergency?' _Prowl asked as hopefully as he could through the text.

Optics flashing a deep blue, Ratchet jerked his helm up to glare at the younger mech. _'You will have _no_ use of _any_ form of communication other than _sign language_ until you're as fluent as you need to be.'_

With that, Ratchet gave Prowl's processor a final tweak, and the HUD communication center was blocked. Now only allowing the typical self-memo and a base-wide alert, there would be no form of speaking with it.

An unnerving, cold feeling creeped up Prowl's spinal struts as he instantly felt cut off from everything, including the mech standing just before him. A distinct tremble began to work it's way through his doorwings at the fact that he could not speak, could not message, couldn't even write on a data-pad or else risk the wrath of Ratchet. He had no way to talk with others, other than that stupid, stupid chip!

Ratchet only withdrew his cord when the hyperventilations stopped, and he could do so without causing the mech any further panic.

[Now.] Ratchet spoke to deaf optics. [You have a choice.]

With that, Ratchet turned and walked away, leaving Optimus to follow in his wake and learn that he had lost his SIC for the time being. With a single nod, he met optics with Prowl and left.

Now Prowl was entirely alone, not even able to hear his own vents or his digits drumming on the med-berth. He immediately stopped, doorwings shuddering. Folding his hands, he clasped them tightly.

He had a choice to make. To understand Ratchet via hand signing, or sit there as useless as a Neutral. The war was raging on outside, more and more cities joining sides as the kliks went on. That little chip lodged in his wrist, information pounding on his flared firewalls like a bot seeking shelter from the cold, was his way out.

He didn't want a way out! He wanted all of this to be gone. He wanted all of this to be over with already; his hearing restored to normal and all well with the world. Except...there was no escape. There was no way to fix his audios, as far as the medics were concerned. He was as deaf as Sideswipe was to an order.

Slowly, very slowly, he took out a line of code. He had no power over the medical override, so there was no reason even to try, but he _could_ fiddle with his own hard drive. Another line of code, and another.

Ratchet hung his helm with a vent at a loud 'click' at the other side of the room, a blue flash of optics, as withheld information was finally able to flow free.

* * *

Only after the third of many information uploads had integrated themselves into Prowl's processor was he finally released from the med-bay. No duty until the uploads were complete, and he was to practice the finger-work as often as possible. Just because he had the information didn't make him an instant master of it, just like downloading a packet on how to shoot didn't make just anybot a top sharpshooter.

He needed to practice, and practice meant mingling with others who already knew. Before being released, Ratchet had painstakingly walked Prowl through his first conversation in sign language.

[You are not the only one with the chip.] Ratchet went slowly, making sure to use no contractions and simple words as Prowl was only on his third burst. [Many bots around the base have them. Me, Jazz, every higher up, and every medic and nurse. Some bots are learning without chips.]

Prowl swallowed once. So many bots, just for him? Of course, it was only logical. They needed to speak with him and vice versa, but still, he felt just a little touched at the thought of so many bots uploading the information. And, more still, learning the old-fashioned and difficult way by watch-and-copy, memorization, and practice.

Seeing that Prowl understood, but wasn't answering, Ratchet finished up. [You may leave now, you are not needed here anymore. If you have questions, you can ask anyone.]

Prowl gave a single nod, rising to his pedes without a word- fingerspelled or otherwise. A small data-pad was slid into his hands without explanation, and Prowl spared it a glance. Merely a downloaded pamphlet on sign language and living with his new-_my problem_.

Awkwardly, Prowl reached up with a flat hand as if to press his digit tips to his lips, and slowly put it flat out, palm up. [Thank you.]

Ratchet used his own version of sign language next, motioning widely towards the door with a windmill-like sweep and half-strike to the doorwings. While not real sign language, or at least as far as Prowl was aware, he took it as a sign to leave.

He was surprised, or perhaps, unsurprised, when he was immediately met by Jazz.

The white mech, while face drawn in emotional pain and sorrow, managed to plaster on a rather bright smile as he reached up with two digits and gave a small salute, and began to finger-spell. [Hello, P-R-O-W-L.]

Prowl only gave a brief nod, not at all comfortable with the insecurity of not having heard the mech's metal pedesteps on the hard floor. While curious, he couldn't bring himself to ask just why Jazz had spelled his entire name. Even as he reached the end of the fourth data-burst, he already knew that the word 'prowl' had a sign.

[J-A-Z-Z.] Prowl greeted, twisting his fingers in ways that felt normal to his processor, yet foreign to himself. He walked past, finding that not only did he have nothing to say, he wouldn't know exactly how to say it the way _he_ wanted.

But Jazz wasn't easily shaken. He matched Prowl stride for stride up the halls, not at all deterred by the icy attitude and the way Prowl wouldn't bring himself to look at him. That is, until Jazz started to move his hands and Prowl was forced to look up, or be left in the dark.

[Where are you going?] Jazz asked simply with a tilt of his helm back.

An answer instantly hit Prowl, and he opened his mouth to answer, only to close it again unsure if he had even spoken or not. It hadn't appeared as he had, as Jazz was still watching him, expectantly.

He lifted a single digit, feeling less competent than a newborn sparkling trying to communicate, and pointed to himself in what he hoped was the correct word. [My...]

His hands fell aside again, as he realized he didn't know how to say what he wanted to. He hung his helm, face burning in shame, at his lack of _everything_. He was expected to continue as SIC and Head Tactician with _sign language_?

He glanced up as Jazz spared him a smile, hands flashing in the common 'okay' motion. Taking a second vent to focus, Prowl forced himself to start over and fingerspelling the piece he didn't know.

[My O-F-F-I-C-E.] He slowly stumbled through, flinching as he messed up the 'E' into what he thought was an 'S'. Jazz only smiled encouragingly until he finished before grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking his helm and wagging his digit as if reprimanding a youngling.

[No. R-A-T-C-H already said so.] Jazz forced himself to go slow. He had finished the chip just the night before, completely and fully fluent except for some practice. _Live_ practice that didn't involve late nights with a mirror.

Unable to find the correct signs to reply, Prowl merely shook off the grasp and changed direction. If he couldn't bury himself in work, he'd brood in his quarters. Still incapable of taking a hint, Jazz tagged along.

Prowl huffed a vent, hoping it was loud enough for Jazz to catch his irritation but quiet enough to not sound exaggerated. [I want to be alone.]

Jazz's chassis heaved in a vent, and he reluctantly nodded. [Fine, but read what R-A-T-C-H gave you. It will help.] He added a slash over his spark in an x. 'Cross my spark.'

Sparing Jazz only the briefest of nods, he pressed the pad on his door, and stepped inside without a sound. He barely caught Jazz's salute of 'good-by' before closing and locking the steel plate behind him, fully content to fall face-first on the berth.

Too distraught to cry, too tired to sleep, he lay there and waited for nothing.

* * *

He wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep or slipped into a trance. All he knew was that he was lifting his face from the pillow and glancing towards the window to see nothing but darkness. It had been light before. Checking the chip, an alert told him he had just completed the seventh data-burst.

_Congratulations_. He groused to himself. _You are now as competent as a six-vorn old._

Well, that did wonders for his spirit. What else could he do to tear himself down more than he already was?

His optics fell on the untouched data-pad Ratchet had given him early that orn. Having nothing else to do, and too sulky and depressed to do much else, he reached out and snagged it before flopping back onto his wings without a second thought.

He onlined it, the screen lighting up and causing his optics to constrict at the sudden onslaught. It only took a breem, and with a heavy, self-weary vent, he started to read.

The first few pages were nothing his chip hadn't all ready told him. Letters and numerals and common signs that most bots knew without really ever learning the language. He skipped those, not feeling entirely up to reading it.

He couldn't help the small sprout of surprise and interest begin to grow in him as he continued on. There was a whole series of social standard he needed to know and memorize.

_Perfect_. The little voice of Glumness spoke up. _More socialites to learn, and I barely have a grasp on the normal ones._

Skipping over those next, he forced himself to plow on. He began to learn things not even the chip would supply, things such as how rude it was for ones eyes to wander when one who was Deaf or signing was speaking.

'Deaf'. That was another thing that struck him as odd. Throughout the pad, the words 'deaf' and 'Deaf' were scattered about, a very large typo that should have been corrected ten groons ago when the pad was first written. The word was capitalized where it should not be, and lowercased just the same. As if reading Prowl's mind, the pad launched into explanation of the errors.

As it turned out- or at least, what the pad said- to be deaf was simply a handicap. It was the state of being of having no auditory sensors. To be Deaf meant that you embraced the fact and lived in it, knowing that you could do nothing to change it and not caring a lick what others thought.

Or something like that. Right now, he really couldn't care. He skimmed on halfheartedly.

He continued to learn from the pad, despite his honest attempts to gleam nothing from it. He learned that the face Jazz had made earlier by tilting his helm back had helped him form a question, and wasn't just because he had a kink in his neck. The Deaf could gain the attention of others if the other's eyes began to wander by clapping harshly and pointing at their eyes with two digits.

The worst thing of all Prowl read was the stomping. Those who were Deaf certainly couldn't be called across the room, and their internal comms and HUD were either as moot as the calling or just unnecessary at times. To take place of normal callings, someone could stomp to gain his attention, his pedes picking up the heavy vibrations and alerting him.

Prowl was about to set aside his pad, not wishing to read any more of his _deformity_ and all the trouble it would cause, when a certain something caught his optics at the last possible klik. A little something called 'sign names'.

Here was the reason Jazz had spelled his name instead of simply signing 'prowl'. The word in Prowl's mind was an action, not a name. His name would have to be designated by a fellow Deaf bot or himself. A quick motion, faster than finger spelling each and every glyph, that would describe himself or others and would become his name.

Perhaps if there was one thing he could look forward to, in any of this, it was that one little thing. He set the pad aside, shuttering his optics to the slight helmache he had given himself by brooding and reading late into the night.

He had a data-chip to finish and some work to do.

* * *

Jazz hesitated as he went to knock on Prowl's door, bright and early. The mech wouldn't hear it, and he'd stand there looking like an insensitive aft. He wished he could have seen his face when the door slid open on it's own accord, Prowl just behind it without so much as a qualm at Jazz's being there. It was as if he _knew_ Jazz was there.

It was only then Jazz felt Prowl's overly-strong EM field sweeping over him, reading his own signal. _Dumbaft_. He reprimanded himself. _He probably felt me standin' 'ere._

He smiled nonetheless at the two-digit salute Prowl gave him. He returned it with vigor.

[How are you doing?] Jazz asked slowly, face lifted just slightly in pose of a question.

[Fine.] Prowl returned, hesitating only in thought as he pieces things together. After a second pause, he added, [I am nearly...finshed with the chip.] He added a final movement, one hand open and a sweeping motion back and forth over the open hand. Similar to one playing the violin with their one hand as the violin, and the other the bow.

A smile creeped its way onto the Polyhexian's face. [My sign name?]

Prowl started to nod before flinching and balling his fist, nodding it three times. [Yes. The sign for music.]

Feeling the other warming up to him, Jazz easily plopped himself down on the edge of Prowl's berth, grinning all the while as he moved fluidly through the signs. [I like that.] He tried out his sign himself, liking the grace and simplicity of the movements. Something easy for Prowl to call him by in a pinch, but having some thought put in it. His grin creeped into a smirk as he met Prowl's optics with his own. [What's yours?]

Not even missing a beat, Prowl put out a flat hand and seemed to make three jerked motions beneath it with a pointed digit. Jazz snorted, his chassis spasming once in place of the sound, and the sign for 'sneak'. Of course, Prowl would pick something remotely similar to his own name with little to no creativity, but much shorter than the word 'prowl'. It was only _logical_.

[Well, _Prowl_.] Jazz deliberately went through the sign step by step, causing 'Sneak' to roll his optics. [What do you say to trying all this out while we get some energon?]

This time, Prowl agreed the right way. It was now or never, but, in truth, the never looked a whole lot better.

* * *

Thank Primus that the Rec. room was quiet that morning. Er, perhaps not _that_ word. The Rec. room was _uncrowded_. That's better.

At least he wouldn't have to deal with the Twins', or one Twin's in particular, antics anymore. He'd be able to punish them without hearing their complaints, or Sunstreaker's whining about whatever had happened to ruin his latest buff-job. _One good thing out of all of this?_

He thanked Jazz properly as a slightly warm cube was placed in his hands. He could have done it himself, but from the look on Jazz's face, it looked like the whole predicament was hurting the Polyhexian more than the Praxian.

He took a chair in the corner of the room, Jazz seated directly across, and fell back into deep thought. Too deep a thought, as he completely missed the dancing deamon as he tripped into the Rec. Room and got a cube, his optics sighted in on the two black and whites as he slowly moved in to try once and for all to get Jazz.

"Hey, Sides." Jazz hummed up from his cube, just as the red mech leapt from behind him with some off noise or another.

It was Prowl who jumped, just barely, but enough to cause the cube in his hands to slosh up onto the side of his palm and his optics to widen just noticeably. He could tell the mech was laughing, his chassis panting and heaving inaudibly as his mouth moved quickly in choked words.

"Com'mon." Jazz all but growled the words. "Lay off. He's still gettin' used ta...all this."

Sideswipe only shrugged, eyeing the Praxian up and down a few times before half turning to Jazz, optics still on the doorwinger. "So it is true, isn't it? He's deaf."

Jazz only nodded, unable to find any words in any form. Sideswipe, face showing nothing for once, lifted his hands, and started to sign.

Jazz noticed first, Prowl taking longer as his processor calibrated and recalibrated again to try and figure out just _what_ Sideswipe was saying. Then it hit him- Prowl, that is. Sideswipe wasn't saying anything. Merely flipping his hands about, a barely contained smirk sketched into his face as he continued to tease the SIC.

Jazz shoved back his chair, rising to his pedes in a heated fury. It was Prowl who, still seated, forced his balled fast back down beside his thigh and having struck nothing.

The Praxian gently placed a hand to his lips, frowning deeply, and threw his hand down with his palm facing the floor as if tossing something nasty away from his lips. Jazz grinned after the second 'toss', and wasn't afraid to translate for the red mech.

"What the frag is he saying?" Sideswipe demanded, turning towards Jazz with quizzical yet angry optics.

"Yer sign name." Jazz answered simply. "A whole lot easier than spellin' out yer whole name. Kinda like a sign language nickname."

Sideswipe hummed, face scrunching as he tried to translate himself. Finding himself unable, he only turned back to Jazz. "What is it?"

"Naughty." Jazz choked, quickly motioning back to Prowl before he could take the full fury of the red helion. "Hang up, Ah don' think 'e was done talkin' to ya yet. It's terribly rude ta ignore a bot while 'e's signin'."

Turning back, Sideswipe didn't need a translation as his sign name was repeated, followed by a well known motion known by every bot alike. A fist raised, middle finger extended straight up. Speechless, Sideswipe only opened and closed his mouth like a land-locked guppy all while Jazz doubled over behind him, holding his sides with laughter.

Prowl himself both looked and _felt_ rather smug, but only his optics showed it with their brightness as the red mech from Pit stormed out of the room, for once needing no insensitive or harassing to start his shifts.

* * *

Author's Note- I would like to thank each and every one of you from the last chapter who private PMed me and helped me last week when I was having a really hard time. It helped a lot. :) I thank all of you from the very bottom of my heart.

I am no master in ASL, or any kind of sign language for that matter. (The only other form I can name off of the top of my head is BSL, are there many others?) I used the sign names above from words on SigningSavy dot com. I hope I am not a complete dunce in all of this, especially the sign language parts.

If any of you reading this see something that does not add up in the world of sign, please let me know. I AM taking ASL as my high school language, but that won't be for a few months yet. I've studied books and the like, but nothing definite and most vary in intel. So please, I am open to all criticism!

On a final note, I'm looking for a few sign names for as many G1 characters as you can think of! I already have a bunch, but if any of you can think of something better, I might just use it. :)

Also, **Story has changed titles**. Instead of 'Silent, but not Silenced' it is now 'Kindness is the Language' after the quote by Mark Twain. Poll on my page if you want it changed back. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

[Everything seems to check out here. Are you having any trouble with the uploads or pain?]

Ratchet still signed slowly, Prowl optics following his hands. He couldn't help but feel a touch of self-satisfaction as Prowl shook his helm, twisting hands and digits together as he just as slowly went through the words. It wasn't perfect, but he was well along his way to being fluent.

[Nothing to report.] came the simple answer. [All is fine, R-A-T-C-] The hands fell still, Prowl stopping himself as he shook his helm. Correcting himself, he stuck out the index finger on one hand, and made a sort of 'V' with the other. Using the 'V' hand, he slid it over his index digit and started to make the motions of one...turning a socket wrench.

Ratchet snorted at his own sign name, the literal word for 'wrench' being used in place of finger spelling. Somewhere in his spark, he had known it was going to be that. That, or some sort of sign for 'cranky' or 'doctor'.

Checking over his medical scans, Prowl's answer seemed to fit with the readings. The inner audio was no longer picking up any kind of sound waves or vibrations through the air. While it resulted in no more pain, the final outcome wasn't worth the price paid.

Nodding as he finished up the last reading, Ratchet glanced up, setting the scanner aside to use his hands. [You may leave now.] He frowned as Prowl shook his helm, remaining seated. [Is there something you're not telling me?]

[My comm.,] Prowl pointed to his temple, [and HUD are still locked.]

[Of course they are.] Ratchet replied unhelpfully, turning to put away the rest of his tools and forcing the Praxian to wait for him. Or-thank Primus his back was turned to hide his smirk as Prowl _clapped_ for him. There was their old SIC coming back to them. He turned back, forcing on as irritated a face as he could as he signed hotly. [_And_ their going to stay that way until you're settled in.]

It was easy to see the internal cogs working as Prowl put the scenario through his processors. [I'm being put back on duty?]

[_Light_.] Ratchet warned. [Just until you and everyone else gets use to the new way of things. Prowl, you are hereby cleared for duty.]

He was answered with a light salute as the tall doorwinger slid from his medical berth. It took everything in him to keep his mouth shut, his inborn instinct to run his vocalizer stalling as he pointed towards the door and swung his helm in the same direction. Thankfully, it had the same effect as 'Git yer aft outta my med-bay!'

Now, Prowl was all set. All that was left was to see how everyone else would settle in. _Oh, boy._

* * *

_Stylus-check._

_Data-pads-check._

_Inbox-full._

_Outbox-one-fourth full_.

He would have vented had he been any other mech. Any other mech wold have put paperwork on par with watching the monitors. _That_ was where they were_ dead_ wrong. Monitor work sucked the life out of every living creature who was unlucky enough to be saddled with such a task- what else explained Red Alert? Paperwork, on the other hand, was only tedious. It dragged on, but it actually had and end. All one had to do was keep their optics on their goal, and they'd finish none the worse for wear and with all their processorial circuitry unfragged.

Time ticked on, or slid by as the melodious tick-tick-tick of an outer chronometer on his desk no longer reached him. Slowly, painfully slow, he worked his way to the bottom of his Inbox stack. Only one hinderance had stopped him, his own 'SIC' of sorts. The tactician just below him, and a fellow Praxian. Smokescreen, bringing in only two pads, seemed to want more of a social visit and see if the rumors were true than actually delivering pads.

But that had been...two joors, thirty-seven breems ago. This was two joors and thirty-seven, no, thirty-_eight_ breems since then. He had no one who needed to bring him work to check and finish, and no one to bring the finished pads to. So why was there an EM field by his door, standing there for about five breems now, obviously seeking entrance?

A single push of a button, and a tingling vibration filled his servo in place of a buzz that would have once been there. He pushed away the ache deep within, and focused on the bulky red mech that had just trumped in through the door.

[Time you let me in.] Ironhide groused even through his hands as he stumbled through the signs. [Stood there ten breems!]

Prowl refrained from rolling his optics, his own extra-flared EM field struggling to compensate for the lost sense alerting him of the _five_ breems the mech had waited. [I apologize for wasting your time.] Prowl easily moved his hands, his fingers twisting and moving perfectly about.

Ironhide's face pulled back in a scrunch, his helm tilting as he lifted his hands. If his tight rein on his emotions had been any looser, his face would have heated. It was obvious that Ironhide, finding some goodness in the old and hardened spark he owned, had found it within him to learn the sign language. There really wasn't any reason for him to, the both of them never spoke to each other anything more than a nod in the halls as they walked by or the two of them were on a mission with others.

Slowly, Prowl restarted, Ironhide probably only on his first data-burst or so. After the third time, Ironhide understood.

[Just get there faster next time.] Ironhide snorted, chassis jerking once with the motion. His gruff, upbuilt demeanor always showed with his thick accent and demanding tone. Take that away from him, and he seemed as unsure as the next mech about what to do. His hands tripped and stumbled, starting and restarting from time to time as the words that wanted to flow through his mouth deterred to his hands. And, like any detour, it was never as good as the main route. [I wanted to...ask if you want...help.]

[Help?] Prowl repeated, helm tilted back. [With?]

[Training...] Ironhide trailed off, hands poised in front of him and face blank as his processor whirred.

Prowl found himself instinctually leaning back as the mech threw his hands up in the air, mouth moving in a barrage of obvious curses, Prowl picking up on much more than 30 percent of them. [Are you only in the beginnings of your downloads?] Prowl managed as soon as the silent verbal assault seemed to taper off.

[Downloads?] it was Ironhide's turn to question. [What downloads?]

Now it all made sense. No bot with any kind of chip would be as flustered as Ironhide was now. Ironhide, the big lug, was learning sign language the old-fashioned, tried and true way of memorization. It was much harder, especially to a bot as up in his vorns as Ironhide was, but it was the only option Ironhide had if he wanted to speak to Prowl face to face without an interpreter.

Prowl used as simple signs as he could the rest of their conversation.

[I want to train you.] the Weapons Specialist and main combat trainer stated after a few stop and goes. [Fighting with a handicap is different from fighting with all of your...senses.]

[Obviously.] Prowl replied simply, trying his hardest to remain unaffended. Just what did Ironhide know about 'handicaps'?

He hid his start well as Ironhide seemed to read his very processor. [More than you think. Training room.]

Prowl waited a moment, waiting for specification. When none came, other than a motion from Ironhide to follow, he found himself having to abandon his work to follow the bulky red mech through the eerily quiet halls and into the equally quiet training room.

Somewhere deep inside of him was rather surprised to find Jazz standing there, grinning as the door slid closed behind them, a soft gust of wind from it hitting him from behind. The rest of him- completely unsurprised.

[Hey, Prowler.] Jazz grinned, the loathed nickname popping up more frequently the more comfortable they got with the signs. Two quartexus thus far, and Jazz was right back to friendly jibes and insults. Nothing pertaining to his lack of hearing, most definitely, but still insulting nonetheless. The Polyhexian paused a moment, turning towards the red mech and nodding and speaking with him a moment before turning back to Prowl. [I-R-O-N-H-I-D-E wants me to interpret for him since he's not too good at sign just yet.]

[Very well.] Prowl agreed.

[By the way.] Jazz added as an afterthought. [Have you got a sign name for him yet? His designation's a handful.]

He just barely managed to hide the twitch at the corners of his mouth before shaking his helm. [Not yet, but I'll get right on it.]

Jazz shrugged, turning back to Ironhide as the red mech once again pulled his attention towards himself. Nothing could ever explain the deep longing within him, wishing to once more understand those wavelengths their vocalizers spurted out. To not be left out in a conversation and to understand more than a few sight words his processor was able to pick out of conversations. His lip reading was much less than thirty percent, boarding more on a pitiful two.

[He wants to teach you to fight without the use of your audios.] Jazz signed at long last, glancing at the talking Ironhide once more before turning his full attention to Prowl. [He has experience teaching those with handicaps, and wants to make sure he's not sending a 'slag-tard into the field to get his helm shot off'.]

It now became blatantly obvious just how much Jazz was paraphrasing. But the subtext wasn't what had Prowl's attention at the moment. [What experience does he have teaching the Deaf?]

[Well, maybe not the Deaf specifically...] Jazz's face turned a face shade of pink. [But he has experience teaching those with optic problems.]

[You?] Prowl asked after a moment.

The blush darkened. [Yeah...kind of hard to hide a visor, and he somehow just knew I was legally blind and all. But not just me.] Jazz continued on. [He has first-hand experience himself.]

As Prowl turned towards the red mech, pointing towards him questionably, Ironhide figured out good and well just where Jazz had left off. [I am blind on one optic.] The mech added what Jazz had conveniently left out. [You can't tell it is unless you're up close.]

Jazz snorted, Ironhide scowling. [Up close as in Ratchet medically examining it. And if you're that close, you'll probably be unconscious in a klik.]

"Darn right." Ironhide huffed, no interpretation needed.

Prowl's optics furrowed, processor kicking into overdrive. Jazz he knew about, the visor was more than obvious and the mech himself had told him long ago about his optics plight. Ironhide, on the other hand, was a complete shocker. _You think you know a mech_. Ironhide, with his great big canons and his 'I'll kick your aft from here to kingdom come' attitude. And Ironhide with his-w_ait._

[Are you not one of our best sharp and distance shooters with a higher than normal accuracy?] Prowl questioned, trying to figure out just _how_ a mech, blind in one optics, could _shoot_ without difficulty.

[Practice.] Jazz filled in with a smirk. [And he has infrared heat sensors in his canons that help with the accuracy.]

Well, that explained it. Depending on the strength of the infrared, how far he could zoom in with it, and how far the infrared was accurate - it was no wonder just _why_ Ironhide was used for training new recruits in accuracy and sharp shooting.

[And how do you propose to 'train' me?] Prowl went through Jazz.

Why did that malicious glint in his optics- optic, now that he thought about it- bear him no good? He didn't need Jazz to translate for him as the red mech grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him towards the holographic display, set at a typical spance of the nothingness so much of Cybertron had become.

"Easy."

A laser weapon was shoved into his hands, a pitiful barricade just large enough for him to duck behind if he curled into a fetal position with his wings down for his use. The barren wasteland before him remained quiet as Ironhide tapped his shoulder, gaining his attention once more.

[Keep your optics open. This is to see how you would do in...battle.] Ironhide churned out as fast as he could, slowing down as the amount of mistakes he made was not helping. [Be watching you.]

And with that, he found himself dreadfully alone, both Jazz and Ironhide having disappeared into a viewing room hidden behind one of the walls and it's one-way window well camouflaged. He couldn't hear his own vents, couldn't hear his own sparkbeat, couldn't hear if the enemy was creeping up on him step by step by step by-

He whirrled around, weapon poised and raised as something brushed his doorwings. A ghost, most likely, as he was met with nothing more than the endless space. He shuttered his optics, trying to focus, only to throw them open once more as the giant feeling of _everything_ tried to swallow him whole, devouring him like a Sharkticon and leaving his rods to rust.

* * *

"Will ya just calm the frag down already?" Ironhide groused, immensely thankful to be speaking once more instead of struggling with his hands.

Jazz frowned, gripping his fiddling digits and taking a quiet vent. "He's freakin' out."

"He's supposed to." Ironhide stated, optics on the window showing them the mech near hyperventilation, optics wide as he turned about, ready to shoot anything that moved. Funny thing was, Ironhide hadn't even started the simulator yet. "It's supposed to show him just how much he _doesn't_ know and just how limited he is now."

Jazz could only huff in his sulky mood, glancing back towards the window with a heavy spark and aching chassis.

* * *

_Ignore it._ Prowl forced himself to shutter his optics as he dug his hands into the very lifelike dirt, trying to find some sort of anchor. The sensor ghost his doorwings kept picking up, making him spin in a circle and fire at the wall twice now, swept over him again. _It is only your imagination. _

The non-existant holographic ghost that had been tormenting his doorwings and fragging with his mind now vibrated up his servos, a faint _thump-thud, thump-thud, thump-thud_ not sounding, but feeling up his wires and tubes. It was only his own paranoia, his own mind trying to trick him into believing something was there when it wasn't.

Something _solid_ touched him, his shoulder flinching under the grip as the inbuilt, sparked instinct of fight-or-flight rose up inside him. His processor stalled as he whipped himself up, disoriented at the lack of _any_ sound at all, and caught a pair of black and purple pedes in the corner of his optics.

_Skywarp_. His processor supplied out of habit, the Seeker's face filling his mind as he fired.

Only to come face-to-face with a thick, chunky Cybertronian bearing a _red_ insignia, a horrified face, no wings to speak of, and a river of energon pouring from his body as his pedes gave out from under him. The Autobot collapsed to the ground, meeting optics with Prowl as his mouth moved in what the Praxian could only guess were moans and cries of pain. Guilt filled him as the robot fell still, and his holographic life disappeared into the dirt as the projector was turned off.

He let the laser weapon slip from his digits and into the sand below as the eternal, endless wasteland around him began to fade out. Prowl watched as the dirt and sand around his pedes disappeared and was replaced with the cold metal floor of the Training Rooms.

He didn't feel them, didn't see them, but knew they were there as he made two, simple signs. [I failed.]

[You did exactly what H-I-D-E knew you would do.] Jazz returned as the bulky red mech scooped up the discarded weapon. [It was just a test, Prowl, to show you what would happen had this all been real.]

[Had it all been real,] Prowl's very hands twisted with the venom in his veins, [I would have killed an Autobot and become a liability myself. It isn't fair to others, and it most certainly is not _logical_ to send me out on a field any longer.]

He turned his helm away as the laser weapon was pushed right under his olfactories, the handle for him to take. There was no way in the _Pit_ he would ever touch a weapon like that again. He may as well turn in his acid-pellet pistol right now.

Ironhide vented as he lowered the offered gun, letting it rest against his thigh and the nozzle tip-tap against it as he thought. "Did you tell him that this was all supposed to happen, and he _was _supposed to doubt himself?"

"More or less." Jazz replied. "He said it ain't logical ta go out in the field anymore. Said 'e was a liability."

"'Course he is!" Ironhide exclaimed. "As are you and me. That's why we gotta make ourselves indispensible enough ta keep us out there and actually do something other than get shoved behind a desk and polishin' guns."

Nodding in agreement, Jazz sighed. "Ah know tha', an you know tha', but 'e don't. Yer tellin' meh tha' when you started all this trainin' ya were all for it?"

Ironhide shook his helm sharply. "Of course not. Nobot is. But once ya get over the first obstacle, the rest is easier."

"Ya know this would all mean more ta 'im comin' from you, righ'?" Jazz cocked an optic ridge.

"I'm still learning all this hand scrap." Ironhide groused. "And damned Ratchet won't let anybot talk ta him any other way but this. Once the medic pulls his helm outta his aft or Aid finishes up all this sign language stuff, I'll talk to him myself."

Venting again, Jazz turned back to Prowl, signing all that Ironhide had said minus a swear word or two. Ironhide could only stand back and watch, catching a word every now and then as Prowl replied and Jazz answered. Was this how Prowl felt now? Excluded from simple conversation and on his own? Of course, the bot had always been kind of reclusive, but this was a whole new level of severed off from the real world.

"'E wants ta know just _how_ yer gonna be able ta help 'im fight." Jazz spoke aloud after a moment. "Says 'e can't hear the enemy comin' at a distance or hear a missile comin' towards 'im, so how are ya gonna help 'im?"

Ironhide shrugged with a nonchalant tone. "Easy. He's still got his optics- they're only gonna get sharper as time goes on. Also, he's got a bonus most bots don't. He's Praxian, he's got a sixth sense most don't have."

Reaching out, he grabbed Jazz before he could turn to interpret once more. "Wha'?"

"And tell him to meet me here after my shift. Gonna be late, 'bout 2000 joors. We'll start then." Ironhide said quickly, his HUD popping up his personalized message of 'Yer late, dumb-aft!' a third time now.

"Start with wha'?" Jazz asked after relaying quickly.

Ironhide only snorted, Jazz not needed as he merely grinned at the Praxian. He gave a two-digit salute in good-bye, and left without even a 'By your leave'.

* * *

Never, not in all the vorns he had trained under any teacher, not even during sessions of Cyber-Zu or a day of Physical Education as a youngling had he ever been so _sore_.

He could feel every strut of his frame, dinged in and dented. He had thought he had known every rod in the body, every strut and axle, only to be proven wrong as he stiffly ducked down below the next blow well aimed for his sensitive doorwings.

Ironhide gave a nod of approval, hands still in fists, before going at it again. It was a dance, step back, turn, duck. Reflect, deflect, and dodge the next set. Repeat.

His chassis heaving in pants, every wire in his frame screamed for a time out. But Prowl was persistent. Nobot was going to beat _him_ around and think he'd give up. While disorienting, his optics rapidly recalibrating to make up for what his audios missed. The lost sounds of Ironhide's heavy pedesteps, the heaving of their chassis, and the sharp blast of metal hitting metal seeming to have never even exited. Plenty of _visual_ evidence, but nothing that could ever tell him if it had ever made a noise or not.

_If a crystal smashes in a garden and no ones around to hear it, does it make a sound?_

_Smash!_

Prowl landed on his aft with a heavy 'thunk', doorwings making sure to bring him down completely with no way of regaining himself and keeping what pride he had left. He sprawled on his back like a turtle at Ironhide's very mercy.

Glumly, he accepted the hand offering him a way up, and pushed himself to his pedes with his free servo. Rolling a shoulder back into place, he scowled. [And all of this is supposed to do what?] he signed, hiding a grimace as he caught sight of the multiple dents in his armor. Ratchet was going to have a fit.

And Ironhide wasn't all that helpful, either. [You'll see.] He said, again. Just like the joor before that and the joor before that.

Prowl vented, tilting his helm one way and then the other until a satisfying crack was felt. He straightened just in time to catch Ironhide's hands, the mech not even caring to see if he was watching of not.

[Meet me here tomorrow, same time.] Ironhide said as quickly as he could before turning and leaving Prowl behind.

The Praxian vented tiredly, wondering if it would just be better to forgo the Med-bay for the berth and ignoring his crevised body, or face Ratchet's wrath. Oddly enough, he didn't have to choose. Jazz was the one, grinning and laughing at him all beat up and bruised, and dragged him down to the med-bay himself.

And in all of that, Prowl found one good thing about his current predicament. Ratchet needed both his hands to work, and Prowl couldn't hear his ranting, raving mouth as he was cussed out, and Jazz refused to translate. Perhaps visiting the Med-bay wasn't going to be such a hassle anymore as Prowl had done the impossible.

Prowl had figured out how to silence the Chief Medical Officer.

* * *

Author's Notes- I hate how short this is! But, it was either break my 'digestible' chunks of story. (See my story Elementary if you don't know what I mean.), or write an Elementary length chapter! I decided on the former, so please don't kill me!

Also, I know Prowl seems to be taking this rather well, but he's only just getting started. Maybe 1-2 weeks our time. Just to avoid any confrontation that Prowl's going too well.


End file.
